



















* 8 \ 0 , '*' 0 s 0 ’ 

^ .S' .. seats - ■<f;^ ^-^'^ ♦ 


't - 

■\ O. aV 



c.*^' ^ M 

t ^ 2 

-V , s .' \ ^ o «. 

^ ,50 , V 'i ^ 

‘7^ -< ^a 





^ " "" V' ^ 

.V • jAWA, ^<, * 

'X P 





/* O C A' 

-i 




'P 

\\* ^ 


N 


O • 8 , <P^ 

V> ^ * 0^ > ® ' ' V-^^ S" ^.y 



/. '*' 0 V O O 

C‘ . V '>■ 

’ v. '^’ ■" ^ •S> o V^^\F ^ -G? 

• 4 '^ . 0 N C . 'O ' ^ ^ X^ <,'.'«# 0 « V. ■<> ^6 

' '^x <5^^. - ^.o O.- . 0 ^ C^ 







** I s'* s''* ^ 0 

-AN ^ Jl^r //yz^ ^ 

D- 1 


r ^O <y r, n D I \ * ^ 0 ^ * 

- ' • ~ “ v' \ ,0^ ^''^'l 

,i. ^ » y®®i» . 

> •^, 





. *V ^ “ K 

"-vT^^s" A 

v'^ x'' ryO^ -1 0 

V , -'• ^ o' 


L .- SfflO t 


V S' 


7 ' v . 

A* o 



rV n^ ^ ^ 



























“ I Want You to Get Into These ” 





JEANNE 

BY 

Alice Ross Colver 

Author of the Series 


Illustrated by 
Isabel fV, Caley 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 
1922 



s 








COPYRIGHT 
1922 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



Jeanne 


Made in the U. S. A. 


OCT -G 72 


To 

^^PEGGY^^ IVOOTTON 
in particular 
and to 

all the lovers of “ Babs ** 
in general 

this book is affectionately 
dedicated 


¥ I* 


/ 




J 


/ 


. \ 


*/ , /■ 






> 


Introduction 


When you enter your teens, you seem at 
last to begin to live life, and daily you have the 
belief and the hope that “ something ” will 
happen. This “ something ” is always very 
vague in every particular but one. It is defi- 
nitely and imquestionably “ exciting.’" For 
each of you excitement takes a different form, 
depending upon the customs and surroundings 
of your lives. And to very few of you, I am 
sure, come the terrors and the thrills that came 
to Jeanne in the devastated region of France. 
When you read of her miraculous escape to 
happiness and think how many more girls 
probably were never so lifted from sorrow to 
joy, you will find, I think, a greater content- 
ment in your own world, for all its dull gray 
sameness. 

But whether you envy Jeanne her adven- 
tures or congratulate yourselves on your escape 
from such, you cannot help but applaud her 
for her courage and sweetness and generosity 


Introduction 

through her loneliest and loveliest year. And 
as she comes to you, at once shy and eager, it 
is my hope that she will not be disappointed in 
her welcome. 


Contents 


I. 

The End of the World . 

. 

9 

II. 

A True Daughter of France 

. 24 

in. 

Rescue .... 


. 35 

lY. 

The Cablegram 


. 46 

Y. 

The Ride .... 


. 53 

YI. 

Christmas Day . 


. 68 

YII. 

Orders .... 


. 77 

YIII. 

A Journey Begun . 


. 86 

IX. 

The Stowaway . 


. 99 

X. 

America at Last 


. 109 

XI. 

A New Predicament 


. 117 

XII. 

^^The Aristocratic Autocrat 

. 130 

XIII. 

Jeanne Goes to Work . 


. 146 

XIY. 

Jeanne Goes to Jail 


. 157 

XY. 

Jeanne Runs Away . 


. 168 

XYI. 

With the Gypsies . 


. 186 

XYII. 

The New Mama 


. 196 

XYIII. 

The End of Hard Times 


. 208 

XIX. 

The Finding of Friends . 


. 217 

XX. 

A Speech and a Storm . 


. 229 

XXI. 

The Invitations 


. 250 


Contents 


XXII. Euth 260' 

XXIII. Cakol 269 

XXIV. Bee 277 

XXV. Bee and Carol 287 

XXVI. Letters and Old Friends . . 309 


Illustrations 


“ I Want You to Get Into These ” . Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“ Well, How Would You Like to Get Aboard? 66 

** You May Stay Here,” She Said . . .133 

“ Shall We Not Then Eat Our Lunch Here? ” . 241 

“You’re Looking Trim and Well Rigged” . 318 


Jeanne 

CHAPTER I 

THE END OF THE WORLD 

The little town of Bellebois was still under 
a hot September sun. It was a strange still- 
ness; not a restful quiet, but rather an alert 
quiet as though strained and listening ears 
were waiting for some sound to break the calm. 

In the wide shady street not a soul was to be 
seen. Houses, apparently empty of all life, 
stood in a grim silence, their doors ajar, and 
windows half open, seeming to gape in sur- 
prise at something sudden and terrific that had 
occurred not long since. In the shopping dis- 
trict wares were left carelessly to the open air 
or the thieving passer-by while the owners were 
nowhere in sight. 

A white road cut the little town exactly in 
half. Standing in the centre of Bellebois — in 
the business part of it — on this single 
thoroughfare one could look for miles over 
9 


lo 


"Jeanne 

open country either way. Homes were laid 
out on either side, their fronts to the deserted 
street, their walled-in gardens backing to deep 
woods. Gleaming through the darkness of 
foliage could be seen the white spire of the 
church, built a little way out of town at some 
distance from the homes, but most beautifully 
situated in a cleared space in the deep green 
woods. 

Suddenly the mellow tones of the church bell 
rang out on the still air. It had the effect of 
an alarm. Birds rose from secret hiding-places 
in sudden fright; a baby’s wail cut the heavy 
air of the summer’s day, footsteps sounded on 
the sidewalk and a clear high child’s voice 
called out: 

“ I’m going to the church. Mama! Pere 
Renard summons us ! ” 

“ Very well, cherie. Make all haste back to 
Grandmere and me, else I shall worry.” 

A slim girl in her early teens ran out of one 
of the most imposing houses on the street, 
turned and waved a hand at an upper window, 
then hurried along the dusty road to overtake 
a neighbor. 

“ Madame Dupign}^! ” 


11 


T*he End of the World 

‘‘ Oh — ^you — ^Jeanne! ” 

The older woman, her baby in her arms, lit- 
tle Antoinette clinging close to her skirts, fell 
into step with Jeanne. They had been next- 
door neighbors for years; — two of the oldest 
and most aristocratic inhabitants of Bellebois. 
Madame Dupigny had watched Jeanne’s 
growth from babyhood and her eyes rested 
very lovingly on the little girl beside her. 

“ How is Grandmere to-day? ” 

“ Well, thank you, but growing more con- 
fused and alarmed all the time. She does not 
understand this evacuation. She cannot be- 
lieve there is really a war — and danger. Do 
you really think there is, Madame? ” 

Madame did not know what to say. This 
child was such a child, so innocent and lovely; 
yet not to warn her would be a cruelty and 
wrong she could not carry on her conscience, 

“ There is grave danger, Jeanne,” she said 
at last, just before they reached the cloistered 
coolness and safety of the little white church. 

Here were gathered a handful of people, 
mostly the very old and very young, those left 
in Bellebois who had been too weak to rush to 
safety when the alarm came that the Germans 


12 


^Jeanne 

were on the way. They gathered now, fright- 
ened but calm, close to their beloved Pere Re- 
nard. For all his stooped slimness, white hair 
and peaceful old face, he was to those pitiful 
few French souls an inspiration for courage. 
He possessed a strength that reached the peo- 
ple through his calm deliberate tones, his level 
glance. No one was so terrified when near 
good Pere Renard. He began speaking 
slowly. 

“ The Germans will reach Bellebois before 
nightfall. I adjure you all to meet these peo- 
ple with politeness and calm. Give them what 
they ask, remembering that if they take every- 
thing there' is always food and shelter here in 
the church. We have enough stored away in 
the depths of the church cellar to care for us 
all for a month. Let their greed not alarm 
you. They will pass through quickly, I be- 
lieve, — I hope. And we will then gather here 
again to renew our larders and benefit by mu- 
tual help.” 

He paused a moment, then lifted the heavy 
gold cross that hung over his black gown. 

“ In the name of our Saviour — and of 
France,~keep your courage steadfast.” 


T^he End of the World 13 

J eanne had stood silently by Madame 
Dupigny through this short speech, her great 
brown eyes widening, her delicate coloring fad- 
ing in her tense excitement. Madame glancing 
do^vn at her, dreaded for this delicate flower- 
like little bit of womanhood, the next few 
hours, as much as she dreaded them for her 
own children. 

They went home together, silent except for 
a brief sentence or two. At her door Jeanne 
nodded good-bye and Madame went on to her 
own home. 

“Mama I Mama!” 

Jeanne’s excited cry echoed through the big 
still house. Following it she bounded up the 
wide stairs and into the big room at the top. 

Madame Lanier straightened from bending 
over a trunk she was packing. 

“ Yes, dear? ” 

Jeanne gasped out her news in short breaths. 

“ The Germans 1 Father Renard says they 
are coming! They are here. Mama. What 
shall we do? ” 

The beautiful dark-haired woman picked up 
a box of jewelry, a roll of silver and some pa- 
pers, and in silence stowed them away in a 


14 yeanne 

secret cupboard in the wall of the room. Then 
she dusted her slender white hands on her 
apron, pushed back the curling locks that fell 
low on her forehead and turned back to 
Jeanne. 

“ Did Father Renard say that surely, 
dear? ” she asked. 

“ Most certainly. Mama. A rider went 
through the town an hour since. He must 
have borne the news. I heard him from the 
garden.” 

“ I was busy,” Madame Lanier replied. “ I 
heard nothing. Here, Jeanne, help me to push 
this chest before the cupboard. Perhaps then 
the Boches may not perceive it.” 

“ What is it? What is the matter? ” came 
a quavering voice from the next room where 
Jeanne’s grandmother sat all day, straining her 
nearly deaf ears to understand what was going 
on, and living in worse terror, because of the 
knowledge denied her, than those who heard 
all the dreadful rumors. 

“ Run get Grandmere, Jeanne,” her mother 
commanded. “ Bring her in here with us. 
Hurry.” 

J eanne ran from the room and in a few min- 


T^he End of the World 15 

utes came in, her little hand tucked support- 
ingly under her aged grandmother’s arm. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Grandmere,” she said 
gently to the sweet-faced, silver-haired lady. 
“We won’t let the Germans hurt you — Mama 
and I. Here is your chair. See, here by the 
window. Now you tell us when you see them. 
What are you doing. Mama? ” 

“ I want you to get out of your clothes and 
into these,” her mother commanded, her voice 
suddenly sharp as Jeanne had never heard it. 

“ But those are ragged dirty boy’s clothes. 
Mama,” Jeanne cried in dismay, “ and my 
frock is so pretty. Please, Mama.” 

Her mother sat down on the chest by the 
wall and drew Jeanne to her. There with her 
gaze on the wide earnest one of the brown eyes 
so like hers, she explained. 

“ Listen, dear,” she said, and though her 
voice was soft again as Jeanne knew it, it was 
also stern, “ in but a little while, perhaps a few 
minutes only, the Germans will be here. They 
are bad and cruel and they like to tease pretty 
little girls ; but if they see a boy here, a brave 
boy who is polite always, but unafraid, they 
may perhaps be kinder. See, these are very 


i6 ‘Jeanne 

funny. We will play you are a little — what 
they say in America — ^ragamuffin.” 

As she spoke she was slipping off Jeanne’s 
dainty, blue and white dress, her white slippers 
and stockings, her lace petticoat, and in a sec- 
ond the slender little girl was garbed in a boy’s 
brown blouse, open at the throat, and blue 
overalls, and her feet were lost in a pair of 
clumsy black, lace boots. Even so the ragged 
clothing did not hide the girl’s beauty and 
Madame Lanier looked at her with critical 
anxious eyes. 

“ Your hair,” she murmured, and she caught 
up a pair of big shears. 

“ They are coming! ” Grandmere cried sud- 
denly in a high shrill voice. “ They are com- 
ing! I see a cloud of dust! What shall we 
do? ” 

“ Sit still where you are,” Jeanne’s mother 
answered in that new low commanding tone of 
hers. “ Come here, Jeanne.” 

And with lips set, she cut off her daughter’s 
long golden ringlets and left her head in a 
jagged, ragged mass that despite its roughness 
still shone with beauty. Jeanne was so fright- 
ened at her mother’s manner that she did not 


The End of the World 17 

complain at this. In a twinkling a cap was 
thrust on Jeanne’s head; her shorn curls and 
pretty clothes on the floor were stuffed into the 
stove. Her mother, after another critical 
glance, had wiped some stove dirt on Jeanne’s 
white hands and arms and face; and then 
Jeanne’s shoulders were caught in a strong 
grip and her mother’s dark eyes were glowing 
into hers. As she spoke, there came to them 
through the still air the sound of many tramp- 
ing feet. 

“ I see a gray mass! It must be soldiers 
marching! They are endless!” Grandmere 
cried. 

“ Jeanne, listen to me carefully. Whatever 
happens to Grandmere or me, you are to be 
brave. Do not cry. Do not be afraid. Re- 
member you are a daughter of France and they 
are always, always fearless. And above all 
things do not forget you are a boy. Your 
name is now Jean, not Jeanne. Do you under- 
stand?” She emphasized the two pronuncia- 
tions. Jean was French for John. 

Jeanne’s eyes sparkled with fiery courage. 

“ Oui, oui, Mama! ” she cried with upflung 
head. “I do imderstand!” Then her eyes 


i8 Jeanne 

caught sight of her timid, weak Grandmere. 
“ How shameful that Marie and Annette and 
all the other servants ran away from us, 
Mama! ” she crieci “ Just us to take care of 
things!” 

“ No, it was not disgraceful. It was right,” 
her mother replied steadily. “ Those who 
could go, should, but Grandmere is too old to 
travel. Come, Jeanne, take her out into 
the garden with you. I will wait for the 
Boches.” 

So each on a side of old Grandmere helped 
her for the last time down the stairs, through 
the beautiful big house, out the back door into 
the lovely old walled-in garden. 

“ Perhaps you may be alone here. It may 
be better,” Mama explained to Jeanne as she 
seated Grandmere in a chair. Already they 
heard sharp commands, rumbling wheels and 
the clatter of advance horsemen. “ Listen, 
petite. Do not leave Grandmere alone. You 
are a brave boy, you remember, and you must 

protect her. If ” she hesitated, then went 

on steadily, “If we should be separated, if any- 
thing happens to the house, you must go to 
America, to these people.” She thrust into 


The End of the W irld 19 

Jeanne’s pocket a slip of paper on which was 
written a name and address. 

“ Guard it, dear,” she finished in a whisper 
as the tramping feet came up the street. 
“ They are friends — ^good people — who loved 
your brave, laughing father. They will take 
care of you.” 

Jeanne’s big eyes were wider than ever with 
the importance and suspense of the moment. 
She could only nod briefly before tramping 
feet were heard through the house and loud 
voices ; then came the flinging wide of the back 
door. 

Mama hurried to greet the big German of- 
ficer and quickly shut the door behind her. 
Jeanne and Grandmere, fourteen to protect 
eighty-nine, were left alone. 

The next six hours were fearful and breath- 
less to Jeanne. So many times she crept trem- 
bling to the window to peer in at her beautiful 
Mama, waiting like a servant upon those pigs 
of Boches. With hands clenched and eyes 
snapping she would run back to Grandmere 
and tell her all she saw. 

“ The house is full of them! ” she whispered. 
“ They go up the stairs, down in the cellar — 


20 


^Jeanne 

everywhere. They break and smash and cut. 
They demand to eat. Mama tries so hard to 
understand and to please and they pay no at- 
tention that she is a lady and gentle born. I 
wish I were a boy, a real boy. I should go in 
and — and — and — tell them things! ” 

And she clenched her smutted hands and 
stole again to the window. 

The hours went by, three, four, five of them. 
Darkness fell, suddenly lightened by fires. 
Grandmere’s keen eyes knew them to be homes 
of her friends, and she trembled, but Jeanne 
grew fiercer. 

‘‘ I am going in there with Mama,” she an- 
nounced. She is tired — so white — and her 
eyes so big. I must show them she has a son 
who will take care of her.” 

“ No, no, Jeanne petite. Mama said no. 
Stay with me. I am so old and I cannot 
hear.” 

Yes, Grandmere,” Jeanne’s swift kiss was 
on the faded wrinkled cheek, ‘‘ to be sure, but 
I wish they would go.” 

More hours went by and still the soldiers 
poured into the house, over it, up and down, 
through it room by room. Still Madame 


21 


The End of the World 

Lanier fed them until at last there came a final 
sharp order. 

Then Jeanne remembered only confusion. 
With her face glued to the window, she saw 
men rise, grab up their guns, their belts, their 
packs. There was a surge toward the door. 
Mama was caught in it. One big arm was 
around her. Mama’s white hand went up, 
then down on the face of the man who dragged 
her. Then his went up and down and Mama 
slipped to the floor. But she was caught up 
again and dragged out of the room — out of 
sight. 

Jeanne screamed, but she was not heard. 
She ran up the steps and pulled at the door 
but it was locked. Then Grandmere was sud- 
denly by her side, panting and trembling but 
strangely strong. 

“No, no, Jeanne!” she cried sharply. 
“You must not go in there yet. Wait! Wait! 
till they go. Then we will steal in the cellar 
and up and help Mama. They cannot take her 
far. They must march and fight. They will 
drop her at the door.” 

They clutched each other and waited there, 
one so old, the other so young, till all had left 


22 


"Jeanne 

the house and marched away up the street. 
Then in the darkness they stole to the cellar, 
over broken bottles, up dirty stairs to the floor 
above. Through all the rooms down-stairs 
they hunted and at last went out in the dark- 
ness to the street. Ah, yes. There Mama lay 
by the door, her face a white splash in the 
gloom, except for one dark stain on her fore- 
head. 

Grandmere and Jeanne stooped down to her 
and over Jeanne crept a strange chill. 

“ She does not move, Grandmere,” she whis- 
pered piteously, all her fiery courage gone. 
“ She does not speak to us.” 

Grandmere straightened her old stooped 
back and passed a trembling hand over 
her forehead. Then she sat down on the 
ground. 

“ Jeanne, come here,” she said at last. 
“ Come here, dear.” 

And Jeanne, dirty, tired, frightened, with 
some of the beauty of youth wiped from her 
face, stood at her Grandmere’s knee. 

“ Mama has gone to be with dear, brave, 
laughing Papa. The Germans have sent them 
both to heaven. We need not be afraid for 


The End of the W irld 23 

her any more, Jeanne, Jeanne — ma cherie — 
ma petite 

And now it was time for eighty-nine to take 
care of fourteen, for to Jeanne had come the 
end of the world. 


CHAPTER II 


A TRUE DAUGHTER OF FRANCE 

As they sat sobbing and trembling they 
heard a dull roar. 

“ What is that, Grandmere? ” Jeanne cried. 

Grandmere shook her head. “ I heard noth- 
ing.” 

There followed another, nearer. Then 
flames that rose to the sky. 

“ Oh! I heard that,” Grandmere cried. 

“ Houses! ” Jeanne whispered. “ They are 
blowing up houses! and burning! ” 

“ Let me think, Jeanne,” Grandmere quav- 
ered. ‘‘We must hide. They will find us in a 
moment. Ah! The best place is the cellar. 
Hurry, J eanne. Back to the little cellar — the 
store closet. It is not right imder the house. 
To one side it is. Come! ” 

“ But — Mama! Must we leave her here? ” 

Grandmere nodded her head, and as they 
hurried back into the house there was another 
roar that rattled the windows. 

24 


A True Daughter of France 25 

With it came a flare of anger to Jeanne and 
hand in hand with that a flare of courage. 

“ Oh! Oh!” she cried, stamping her foot. 
“Oh! Oh! Grandmere dear! How you 
tremble. Let me help you. Here, this way.” 

They were passing through the kitchen 
where so shortly before a meal had been in 
progress. The sight of food reminded Jeanne 
that she and Grandmere had had no dinner. 

“I’m hungry!” Jeanne cried, and she 
caught up a great platter of meat, a loaf of 
bread and some butter. 

“Hurry! dear, hurry,” Grandmere begged 
at the cellar-stair door. 

“ And a candle! It will be dark! ” Jeanne 
whispered to herself. In the rush of their 
flight and fright the bigger loss of Mama 
loomed indistinct. 

Then they went down the dirty stairs again; 
over broken glass to the little store closet, 
which had of course been burst open. The 
floor was wet and slippery. There was no win- 
dow. It was deep and dark and cold, but it 
was safe, for it was not connected with the 
house except by the big door that Jeanne 
pulled shut and bolted behind her. 


26 


yeanne 

It was only a few moments after that^ 
though it seemed more nearly hours, that they 
heard a sharp voice over their heads, the run- 
ning of feet through the house; then silence; 
then suddenly — 

All the world must be flying apart and 
crashing about their ears, Jeanne was sure. 
She and Grandmere were thrown flat and glass 
fell and broke about them; the noise seemed 
to burst their heads open and the door — the 
great heavy door — ^flew suddenly out and dis- 
appeared in pieces. 

The rest of that night was a terrible dream. 
Grandmere and Jeanne clung and huddled till 
the noise and roar ceased. Then they cleared 
their eyes and nose and mouth of dust as best 
they could; brushed away the broken glass 
from their clothes and hair, and cleaned a small 
space where they might sit. The candle had 
gone out but Jeanne had a few matches and 
managed to light it again. It gave little light 
but the wreck that they saw through the gap- 
ing black hole frightened them so they were 
glad they could not see more. They had only 
their hands to work with, and Jeanne would 
not let Grandmere touch a thing. 


A True Daughter of France 27 

“ No, no, Grandmere. I am your brave boy, 
you know. Mama said so. I am to take care 
of you. Here — ^here is a clear place, not quite 
so wet. Now sit here and eat this bit of meat 
and bread.’’ 

So hand in hand they sat through the black 
night, the young one growing older with the 
terror and bitterness of her experience, the old 
one growing younger for a while because 
Jeanne’s youth necessitated protection. 

The first peep of dawn came and they crept 
to the gap in the wall. Before them lay the 
wreck of their home. Nothing was recogniz- 
able except a bit of a bed that stuck up out 
of the rubbish and timber and stone and 
ashes. 

“ There’s my own little white bed,” Jeanne 
whispered though the stillness hurt their ears. 

“We cannot get out,” Grandmere quavered, 
feeling suddenly old again. Her limbs trem- 
bled; she grew dizzy and Jeanne helped her 
back to the cleared space. For a few minutes 
Grandmere with her head on Jeanne’s shoul- 
der knew nothing and for one of those minutes 
Jeanne knew fear. Then she began to think. 

When at last Grandmere stirred, Jeanne 


28 


"Jeanne 

held some grape juice from a jagged bottle to 
her lips and Grandmere sat up. 

“ Listen, Grandmere,” J eanne said. “ I’ve 
thought it all out. We cannot get out yet. I 
will have to dig a way.” She laughed shakily 
for the first time in a long while and a deep 
dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. 
“ How glad I am that I have on boy’s 
clothes ! ” she cried, “ and these big boots I 
They will kick us clear in no time. But listen, 
we cannot even try to get out yet. For where 
to go when we do? We cannot go that way 
for we will meet more Germans coming. Nor 
can we follow them — I — should be afraid.” 

“We must go to Father Renard’s,” Grand- 
mere sighed. “ He will take care of us.” 

“If we can find him — and if his house isn’t 
blown up too.” 

“ Then to the church,” Grandmere said 
feebly. “ Everyone will go to the church.” 

“ I never thought of that, to be sure.” 

So with then* plans laid they made the best 
of things. Already J eanne’s courage was com- 
ing back; though Grandmere gTew feebler; 
though their hole was filthy; though Mama was 
killed; though their food was nearly gone and 


A "True Daughter of France 29 

the candle quite burned out. At any rate the 
Germans were gone. 

In two days when all the wreckage had set- 
tled, Jeanne began her work. Her white 
hands, no longer white, pulled and tussled with 
debris; her heavy boots pushed and kicked, and 
after two more days’ labor there was a rude and 
dangerous pathway up from the ruins to the 
earth above. 

But Grandmere was sick — ^and Jeanne was 
stiff and bleeding and bruised and sore, so 
they delayed their going. In two more days 
not a bit of food was left, and only a few drops 
of grape juice. Jeanne leaned over her 
Grandmere and spoke to her loudly. 

“ I must go out to-day and look for food. I 
will be back soon.” 

“ No, Jeanne. No! No! ” Grandmere pro- 
tested weakly, but Jeanne pulled her cap down 
over her curls that were no longer gold but 
dusty and dirty and caked and snarled, 
and clambered up out of the wreck of their 
home. 

Once upright she gazed around in a stupor; 
then gasped. Not a house in all Bellebois was 
left standing; not a tree; not the church; even 


30 Jeanne 

the road was destroyed and great holes gaped 
like mouths laughing. Jeanne did not believe 
her eyes. She and Grandmere must have been 
blown somewhere else. 

Then she felt suddenly sick and weak. 
What could they do? What could they do? 
There was nothing. There was nobody. 
There was no sound, not even a bird. The 
stillness startled her. She began trembling. 

Then of a sudden, up out of a hole next her 
came a figure. Jeanne waited, huddled against 
a rock to see who it was. Who could it be? 
Was it, was it Oh ! 

“Madame Dupigny!” she cried, and flew 
suddenly to her neighbor. 

Madame Dupigny stooped and stared into 
the face of the little figure, clinging wildly to 
her skirts and crying — crying — crying. 

“Jeanne?” she cried wonderingiy. “Not 
Jeanne Lanier? ” 

“ Old! Old! ” J eanne sobbed and then the 
two of them told their stories. Madame 
Dupigny had just her baby left. Little 
Antoinette had been lost — Grandmere buried 
in the ruins. Yes, they had a bit of cheese and 
a potato or two. 


A True Daughter of France 31 

^ Oh! Could you spare some? Just a 
bite? Not for me,” Jeanne cried, “ for Grand- 
mere! ” 

In the end Madame Dupigny left her baby 
in her cellar and with Jeanne, they half 
dragged, half carried poor fainting old Grand- 
mere up the rough walk to the earth, then down 
to Madame Dupigny’s cellar or what was left 
of it. It was cleaner and bigger and lighter. 
The floor was dry. Madame Dupigny had 
been able to catch some rain water which she 
gave to Grandmere to drink ; then she took oft* 
her underskirt and rolled it up for a pillow for 
the old lady’s head. Jeanne held the baby all 
the time. 

“ Oh, it is hon — good — to have help,” 
Jeanne murmured, lifting her beautiful brown 
eyes to her neighbor’s gratefully. 

“ Except for your eyes, child, I should not 
have known you.” 

Then began a week of animal living. 
Jeanne made no complaint. Only once, as she 
viewed her broken nails and blistered hands, 
into the cracks of which the dirt had been 
ground deep; and as she saw in the daylight 
her sticky, dirty clothes, spotted and stained 


32 yeanne 

and soiled as she had never seen clothes before, 
only that once did she shudder and sigh: 

“ If I could take a bath.” 

Then she glimpsed Madame Dupigny’s 
strained, anxious face bending over her waxen 
baby, whose cries were so feeble, whose move- 
ments so weak, and Jeanne shut her pale lips 
firmly and thought to herself : 

“ To live, that is the main thing, to live and 
keep living.” 

As the days went by, they and others of the 
ruined village grew bolder. They ventured 
out of their holes and found there were four- 
teen in all; three more old women, two more 
mothers like Madame Dupigny with two ba- 
bies, and three other children. They were all 
peasant folk but Jeanne and Madame Du- 
pigny forgot that and everyone helped every- 
one else. 

One had an old pot in which they took turns 
cooking snail soup or potato stew with potatoes 
dug by their bare hands from the fields. So 
each family had one hot meal a day. The 
water was rain water caught at night, and 
when it did not rain, they scooped it from hol- 
lows in the gTound or in the rocks and saved it 


A T^rue Daughter of France 33 

carefully. Jeanne made many trips back to 
her cellar with the three other children and 
they brought out the broken bottles that they 
might use for cups. 

One other woman had taken her goat with 
her to her cellar. This milk saved the lives of 
two of the babies and Jeanne’s Grandmere. 
One precious bottle of grape juice, found 
whole in the darkest corner of the shelves, was 
kept for an emergency. 

On some days at the fire when the stew or 
soup was cooking Jeanne would dry and warm 
hers and Grandmere’s clothes. Though she 
shuddered to get into hers again, there was 
nothing else to be done. As it was she thought 
thankfully to herself how wise Mama had been 
to put her in overalls and boots. There would 
have been nothing left of her dress and slippers 
had she worn them. 

So the days crept by and the baby and 
Grandmere grew weaker and weaker. The 
baby hardly cried at all now and Grandmere 
made no attempt to talk or move. Jeanne and 
Madame Dupigny grew big-eyed but no tears 
came. Tears did no good. 

At last one day when Jeanne was digging a 


34 yeanne 

potato in the field near by she flung up her 
head and listened. 

“Hark! Jules!” she cried to the boy near 
her. “ Do you not hear the tramp of feet? ” 
Jules’ face grew white as he nodded his head. 
Then, swift as deer despite their faintness, they 
ran from cellar to cellar and warned all those 
within to stay in hiding. 

“ What is it, Jeanne? ” Madame Dupigny 
cried in alarm, as Jeanne dropped breathless 
in the cellar behind her. 

“ They are coming! The Boches are com- 
ing back again! ” Jeanne whispered. “ What 
can they want? There’s nothing left to do! ” 
Madame Dupigny seized Jeanne’s arm. 

“ How do you know? ” she cried sharply. 
“We heard them and saw the cloud of dust. 
Hark! Do you hear? ” 

They listened, and steadily, surely came the 
sound of marching feet. The Germans were 
coming back. 


CHAPTER III 


RESCUE 

There was a faint hope in Madame Du- 
pigny’s heart that it might be the French, but 
she said nothing. Instead she strained her 
eyes for a glimpse of them in the distance, and 
at last made out the dreaded gray mass. 

Yes, the Germans were coming back. 

In dumb terror they crept to the darkest cor- 
ner of their hole and waited. For hours and 
hours, it seemed, they waited, and at last, close 
to them, — oh, so fearfully close, — passed the 
Germans, retreating. 

Madame Dupigny first sensed this, and 
grasped Jeanne’s arm, her eyes alight. 

‘‘They are retreating. Hark! How they 
march! So tired and no noise, no shouts. It. 
must be that our poilus are driving them.” 

Jeanne held her breath, then nodded and 
her eyes caught fire too. 

The gray line unwound slowly. Those hud- 
dled in the cellars hardly moved as the men 
35 


36 'Jeanne 

swung by. Once the baby cried but Madame 
Dupigny hushed it. Once Grandmere mut- 
tered in delirium but Jeanne was there to quiet 
her. 

Hours and hours dragged by until at last 
they had gone, — everyone. Even then J eanne 
and Madame Dupigny sat silent, frozen, unbe- 
lieving. When at last they spoke it was in a 
whisper. 

“ They’ve gone! ” Jeanne gasped. 

“Driven back!” Madame Dupigny cried. 
“ The French will be coming soon. Oh ! Soon 
the poilus will be here to save us! ” 

So existence became brighter and the potato 
stew was no longer sickening. When once 
Jeanne found a straj^ hen, — bewildered and 
draggled and weak, — and two eggs, there was 
a celebration. That was two days after the 
Boches had passed. As they finished their sup- 
per of eggs, — the first supper they had had in a 
week, — they heard the tramp of feet again. 

To be sure of safety they scuttled to their 
holes like rats, but Jeanne peered into the twi- 
light until she saw at last the beloved blue of 
their countrymen. Then with a shout, out she 
scrambled, — she and Madame Dupigny and all 


Rescue 


37 

the rest except Jeanne’s Grandmere, — and 
waved and waved and waved to the brave, 
tired, dirty soldiers marching stolidly by. 

For the first time in weeks there were faint 
smiles; for the first time in weeks there was 
hope fluttering in their hearts and eyes; for the 
first time in weeks they drew deep breaths of 
relief. The Germans had gone. The French 
were chasing them. Everything was all right. 
L,e bon Dieu , — the good God — was still in His 
heaven. 

An officer stepped from the line and ap- 
proached Madame Dupigny. 

‘‘ You have suffered,” he said, and his stem 
face grew tender as his eyes rested on Jeanne. 
In spite of her dirt and thinness, her refined 
beauty still shone. “But we have come and 
Paris is saved. Following us will soon appear 
the American Red Cross. They will help 
you.” 

At his words Jeanne remembered for the 
first time the slip of paper her mother had 
thrust in the pocket of her blouse. She was to 
go to America to friends of her father’s. She 
had been so absorbed by the present she had 
not thought of the future except as it came. 


38 Jeanne 

hour by hour. She thrust her hand in her 
pocket to pull out the scrap and read the name. 

It was gone! 

Her sharp cry and look of dismay startled 
Madame Dupigny. With a nod of farewell 
to the officer she turned to J eanne. 

“ What is it, 'petite? What troubles you? ” 

So Jeanne explained, and Madame Dupigny 
looked sober. But quickly she said; 

“ Never mind. It does not matter. You 
have not the money for the trip, have you? At 
any rate you must stay with me until we can 
plan. I will help you, and you me. See, 
Jeanne, little Pierre knows these are French- 
men. He smiles a little — oh, a little, — as they 
pass.” 

So another day went by, and another, each 
better than the last, for hope was with them. 
Once a bird sang. They could not find it but 
it was enough to hear it. It stirred some- 
thing in Jeanne’s heavy heart that had not 
stirred for weeks. 

“ I can breathe better,” she said to Madame 
Dupigny, laying her rough little hand on her 
heart. “ Since I heard that bird I can breathe 
better.” 


Rescue 


39 

Madame Dupigny nodded, though her own 
heart was heavier than ever, for little Pierre 
was scarcely breathing at all and Grandmere 
lay as in a stupor. 

On the third day came the big Red Cross 
ambulance. In it were beds for sick people, 
medicine, food; Jeanne and her Grandmere 
were taken, and also the other two old women 
and the three children. There was no room 
for more, but the good Americans promised to 
send another back for those left, at once. They 
kept their word but Madame Dupigny and her 
baby were taken to another place. Jeanne 
never saw them again. 

She sat huddled up on the bed beside Grand- 
mere, and watched with big eyes as the white- 
garbed doctor gave her medicine. There were 
two in the car and Jeanne liked them at once, 
especially the brown one with the steel blue 
eyes. As she watched them giving out food 
and medicine she heard the brown one murmur 
to the other in English: 

‘‘ She will not last long.” 

“ You mean Grandmere? ” Jeanne asked 
with startled eyes. 

The doctors were amazed. 


40 


Jeanne 

“ How do you happen to speak English? ” 
the brown one asked. 

“ My father was an American/’ she ex- 
plained simply, with her quaint accent. “ I 
was born in Ajnerica. Since seven years we 
lived there; then we came back here to take 
care of Grandmere, for she was all alone. Mon 
yere — my father — always talked English to 
me.” 

“ What is your name? ” the brown doctor 
who was helping Grandmere asked. 

“ Jean Lanier,” Jeanne answered giving the 
boy’s name. 

“ Lanier is French.” 

“ Oh, yes, mon pere was of French blood. 
All his people were. That’s why he went so 
gladly to fight the Boches.” 

Where is he now? ” the doctor asked 
abruptly. 

“ He was killed right away and Mama — she 
too. Now you say Grandmere will not live. 
Is it true? ” 

“ She is very old and feeble and she must 
have been through a lot,” he replied evasively. 

‘‘ Oh, yes!” Jeanne nodded, her eyes still 
questioning. 


Rescue 


41 

“ It is hard for old people to withstand such 
a shock. Have you nobody else? ” 

“ Nobody,” Jeanne replied. 

“ Friends in America? ” he queried. 

Jeanne shook her head. 

“ I don’t know anybody in America,” she re- 
plied. 

“ Well, never mind,” he said cheerily. 
“Americans are looking for just such little 
shavers as you. You’ll be taken care of.” 

“ Little what? ” Jeanne asked. 

“ Shavers ! Chaps ! ” he explained. “ Little 
boys. Americans are adopting them as fast as 
they can. I’ll give your name to the commit- 
tee. What did you say it was? ” 

“ Jeanne — Jean Lanier,” she corrected her- 
self. 

“ Happen to know the chairman of the com- 
mittee for the adoption of refugees, where 
we’re going,” the doctor explained to his co- 
worker. “ This boy is — well, — how old are 
you? ” He turned back abruptly to Jeanne, 
taking out a note-book. 

“ Fourteen,” she answered. “ Where are 
we going now? ” she asked in turn. 

“ To a relief camp in Holland,” he replied 


42 Jeanne 

as he finished writing and put his bcx)k back in 
his pocket. Then he leaned over and gave 
Grandmere another drink. 

“ Well, don’t you worry, Johnny, my boy. 
You will be adopted by ten people. I’ll bet 
my hat. Anybody that can talk English as 
well as French will be snapped up like a hot 
cake.” 

So Jeanne, though she could not understand 
all he said, was comforted somewhat all that 
long weary day and night. For they travelled 
for sixteen hours, through country flat and 
desolate like theirs they had left; past ruined 
villages ; around uprooted trees and great shell 
holes in the road, on and on and on — bumping 
and jolting — but always leaving farther be- 
hind them the misery and squalor and meagre 
existence of which Jeanne was so weary. 

She ate ravenously when they gave her food. 
Then she curled up on a bed by Grandmere 
and fell asleep. As she lay, one hand tucked 
up under her cheek, the two doctors talked 
about her in low tones. 

“ I’m going to get Mrs. DuPont to give his 
name to my aunt,” the brown doctor said. 
“ I’ll stick in a note myself if I get time. The 


Rescue 


43 

kid is darned attractive, — with his pluck, — and 
delicate too. He can’t stand the rough life too 
long. Look at those lashes. Gosh! They’re 
too long for a boy.” 

“ Who’s your aunt, Jack? ” the other doctor 
asked, lighting a cigarette. 

“Aunt Beatrice Stafford. She’s a winner. 
Loads of money — a widow — ^no children — big- 
hearted. She sent Dad the money for me to 
come over. Knew I was crazy to. I’d never 
have left Montana if it hadn’t been for her.” 

“ How long ago did you get your degree? ” 

“ June,” Dr. Jack Kent made answer. “ I 
was just wondering whether to interne or start 
out for myself when pop comes the war and 
here I am.” 

His keen blue eyes rested again on Jeanne. 

“ Poor kid, he must have the French fighting 
blood, all right. He’s seen his mother killed 
and the old lady won’t last long.” 

He brushed his strong brown hand back over 
his crisp wavy hair and drew his heavy brows 
together. 

“ This war is just beginning, old man,” he 
said. “ Whatever little bit we do won’t be a 
drop in the bucket; but it’ll help. I’m going 


44 


yeanne 

% 

to begin with that kid. Guess I’ll write a note 
now to Aunt Bee. Mrs. DuPont will mail it 
with the particulars.” 

So as the big Red Cross ambulance lurched 
and lumbered over the uneven ground, and as 
Jeanne, unconscious of the good forces at work 
for her already, slept. Jack Kent bent his alert 
young face over a bit of paper snatched from 
his note-book. 

“ Dear Aunt Bee,” he scrawled. 

“ Have just stumbled across the sweetest 
little chap ever. An orphan. Bringing him 
out of the ruins now. He speaks English like 
a veteran. His father was an American. 
Good blood, I should judge, by the looks, and 
full of pluck. You told me to keep my eyes 
open for a kiddy for you. Well, I think he’s 
the one, though I know you’d rather have a 
girl. Madame DuPont will take a picture 
when he’s washed and dressed properly and 
you’ll have a fairer chance to decide. In the 
meantime do write him. His name and ad- 
dress follows ” 

He finished his letter, thrust it into his 
pocket, sighed with relief and glanced at his 
little charge. To his dismay he found her big 


Rescue 


45 

eyes fastened on him and a deep twinkle lurk- 
ing in their brown depths. Suddenly a dimple 
appeared at the corner of her mouth, a laugh 
spilled out. It transformed her face. From 
the haunting sweet sadness there was a swift 
change to irresponsible joy. It made him 
think of sunshine passing swiftly over a shad- 
owed mountain.' 

“ What’s the joke, kid? ” he queried. 

‘‘ You were so vairy funny,” she explained, 
trying to hold back the dimple, “ twisting your 
tongue and wetting your pencil like a small boy 
at school. Is it then so difficult for you to 
compose a letter? ” 

Her face changed again as suddenly, at a 
little gasp from Grandmere. Dr. Kent bent 
swiftly over her, hut there was nothing he could 
do. There was a fluttering breath, a sigh, and 
Grandmere had slipped away to heaven. 
J eanne was alone in the wide world. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE CABLEGRAM 

Jeanne wanted to cry. She was so tired, so 
lonely, and yes — a little frightened. 

Then Mama’s words came back to her. 

“ You are to be brave. Do not cry. Re- 
member you are a daughter of France.” 

So she set her lips in the firm determined 
way she had learned and listened to Dr. Kent’s 
words. 

“ It was better so, my boy.” His hand 
rested in brotherly fashion on Jeanne’s shoul- 
der. “ You must be glad she has left her suf- 
fering. It is better where we are going but 
still very hard for the weak and old. Can’t 
you sleep a bit, old chap? ” 

Something comradely about his manner 
roused J eanne’s ebbing courage. She brushed 
back a big tear and flung up her head. 

“ I shall not cry,” she said fiercely. “ I 
shall not cry. Grandmere an^Mama and 
Papa are all together. They can take care of 
her better than I.” 


46 


T’he Cablegram 47 

The quaint thought made the two doctors 
stare but Jeanne went on unnoticing. 

“ I do not think I can sleep, but I will try. 
There is nothing else to do.” 

And she wedged her small self on a cot with 
the three other children and closed her eyes. 
Immediately, however, they flew open. 

“ You are quite sure, Doctaire Jack,” she 
pronounced it softly like Zhack, “ quite sure 
that some good American will want me? ” 

“ Very sure,” he said gravely, puffing hard 
at his pipe. 

"" Wi, bien, I hope so,” she sighed and shut 
her eyes again just in time to hide two big 
tears. 

Soon, however, the motion of the ambulance 
became smoother, and as darkness fell and re- 
lief from exhaustion set in, sleep came to little 
Jeanne. It was a troubled sleep, to be sure, in 
which she jumped and trembled and cried 
aloud, and the red began to burn in her cheeks 
and she coughed until “ Dr. Zhack,” as she 
called him, watched her with a critical eye. All 
night long she slept, and the other three chil- 
dren with her, and when she opened her eyes in 
the morning she was in a new world. 


48 Jeanne 

She stared and stared about her, for she saw 
trees; trees and grass and flowers and wind- 
mills and people, — well-dressed people. And 
there were goats and chickens and voices call- 
ing and shouting. Her eyes grew brighter and 
her cheeks pinker, and Dr. Jack, watching her, 
squinted his eyes into two shining specks. 

“ Where are we? ” Jeanne whispered, then 
her hand flew to her throat. 

“ Throat hurt? ” Dr. Jack asked cheerfully, 
feeling for his medicine kit. “All righty. I’ll 
fix that in a jiff. How does this sound to 
you? ” he went on, lifting her head and pouring 
some horrid medicine in her mouth. Jeanne 
swallowed bravely though it hurt, oh ! like pins 
and needles. “ How does this sound? A bath 
— a warm bath — then clean clothes, — then per- 
haps a cot. Hey? ” 

Jeanne’s eyes questioned the truth of such 
wonders. 

“ That’s what happens next. Then a bit of 
hot soup Well! Here we are.” 

The ambulance swerved suddenly into a 
park-like place. Jeanne peering out eagerly 
saw tents, rows and rows of them, in front of 
which stepped young-old children, and before 


The Cablegram 49 

which in the sunshine, with some sort of work 
in their hands, listlessly sat men and women. 

They looked up as the big car rattled by, 
and Jeanne noticed they all had the same de- 
spairing look that she had grown used to. 

“ Their homes are blown up, too,” she 
thought, “ but they have food here — and dry- 
ness — and clothes. It is better than back 
there.” 

Suddenly a faintness came over her, then 
blackness, and she knew nothing more until she 
was in a cool clean bed, with a cool clean feeling 
all over her body, and a cool clean nightgown 
of some kind on her. 

Feeling came first, then she struggled to 
open her eyes, but they were so heavy. She 
tried and tried but she could not do it. So she 
gave it up and sank back into sleep again. 

When she woke again it was night. This 
time she could open her eyes. They stared 
and stared about her at the long plain room she 
was in, at the ten or twelve white beds all 
around her; at the dim light in the distance, at 
the white woman coming toward her bed. 

The nurse leaned over and put a cool hand 
on Jeanne’s forehead. 


5 ° 


°Jeanm 

“ Feeling better? ” 

Jeanne closed her eyes to answer. She 
could not speak nor nod her head, but the nurse 
understood. 

“ That’s good. What is it? A drink of 
water? Just a drop then, here.” 

“Doctaire Zhack? ” Jeanne’s lips asked 
though no sound came. 

“ He has gone again. He’ll come back day 
after to-morrow. Now go to sleep so you can 
talk to him when he comes.” 

Jeanne sighed and obeyed. 

After that there were intervals of soft clean 
nothingness; then moments of clear pricked 
consciousness when she wondered and didn’t 
care and wondered again. And at last there 
came a time when her big eyes flew open to 
meet Dr. Jack’s steel blue ones gazing at her. 
A ray of sunlight shone in a stream on his crisp 
curls turning their darkness to a deep auburn. 

“ Hello ! ” he said in that cheerful tone of 
his. “ You nearly fooled me but not quite, — 
back there in the car. I thought you weren’t 
a boy.” 

“ Your hair is not brown at all,” Jeanne 
sighed. “ It is red. Do they all know? ” she 


T*he Cablegram^ 51 

asked weakly. “ Well, it doesn’t matter now, 
does it? I’m so far from the Germans it 
doesn’t matter if I’m a girl again, does it? ” 

“ Not a bit,” he answered her. 

“ Where am I? ” she asked, looking around. 
“ In a hospital, at least we call it that. It’s 
a shelter at any rate. You have been here 
three weeks. Pretty soon you will be well 
enough to go out to live in a tent. How would 
you like that? They’ve got a job for you, too. 
Think of that! A job for a girl of fourteen. 
I should say you were lucky ! ” 

“ What is the — what you call — ^job? ” 

“ Interpreter,” he answered briefly. “ There 
are a few French like yourself. Most of the 
people are Belgians. But I’ll tell you about 
that later. Just now — can you read this? ” 

He held up a yellow bit of paper. It was a 
cablegram. Jeanne’s eyes travelled swiftly 
over the little black letters. 

“ Make all arrangements for legal adoption 
of Jeanne Lanier. Aunt Bee.” 

Her brown eyes stared wide and bright at 
the clean-cut American face above hers. 


52 yeanne 

“ Your Aunt — Bee? Such a funny name! ” 
she whispered. And for the third time in two 
months her dimple appeared and again Dr. 
Jack thought of sunshine on dark mountain 
tops. “ She will be nice, then,” Jeanne de- 
cided. 

“ You bet she’s nice. Here I’ll leave this 
with you, then you can read it whenever the 
spirit moves you. I’ve got to get a hump on. 
Be good now.” 

“ You will come back? ” 

“ In a week; good-bye.” 

As he disappeared through the door Jeanne 
found strength to wave a thin hand — white 
again — or nearly so. She stared at it in amaze- 
ment. And her hair — a lock had fallen on the 
pillow and out of the corner of her eye she saw 
it gleam gold. 

She was cfean and not hungry, and adopted. 
Could she wish for anything more? Most cer- 
tainement, not. She folded her little hands, 
with the cablegram between them, shut her 
eyes and said a prayer. 

“ Dear bon JDieu, You are there, after all, 
taking care of me down here and Mama and 
Papa and Grandmere up there. Thank you.” 


CHAPTER V 


THE RIDE 

Day by day Jeanne grew better. 

“ I can feel little livenesses run up and down 
my back and legs,” she said to the nurse. 
“And then I stretch and more come. It is 
good. Soon I will walk; is it not so? ” 

“ Yes, — perhaps next week,” the nurse made 
answer, propping a pillow behind Jeanne. 

Jeanne was sitting up in celebration, for Dr. 
Jack was due to-day and she wanted him to 
know how finely she was getting along. Her 
golden hair had been trimmed evenly and hung 
in thick clusters of soft curls just to her ears. 
A faint, faint color had come to tint her pale 
cheeks and her great eyes glowed dark. 

“ What clothes shall I wear when I get up, 
please Ma’amselle Nurse? ” she asked. She 
could never remember the English girl’s queer 
name. 

“ That is a riddle I cannot answer. Don’t 
you want your old ones back again? They are 
washed and look very nice.” 

53 


54 


yeanne 

Jeanne made a wry face. 

“ Not to wear, Ma’amselle Nurse, if you 
please, I want to take them to Amerique when 
I go, to show my new Mama, but I wish to 
wear girl’s clothes.” 

“You do, do you?” a hearty voice cried. 
“ Well, how will these do? ” 

And Jeanne’s Dr. Jack was there, with his 
brilliant smile and crispy auburn hair topping 
a load of boxes. 

“Aunt Bee said you must not look like a war 
orphan any more, for you aren’t one. So she 
told me to buy some duds. Had the deuce of 
a time. ‘ What size this ’ and ‘ what size that ’ 
— Gracious! ” He mopped his forehead as he 
dumped the boxes on Jeanne’s bed. “ I just 
said ‘ peteet — peteet — peteet ’ toot the time.” 

He was working for her dimple and sure 
enough it came and with the spilling laugh. 

“ So here they are,” he continued, satisfied. 

J eanne’s fingers trembled as she and he tore 
off wrappings and the beauties lay disclosed. 
A beautiful blue serge dress, dainty shoes and 
stockings, soft white underwear, — another 
golden brown dress, a coat, a hat — ^there was 
no end to the pretty things. 


T^he Ride 


55 

‘‘O-ooh!” Jeanne clasped her hands. 
Then her radiant face shadowed as she saw the 
hungry, unbelieving, wistful eyes of a girl on 
the bed next her. 

“ But is it right? — Oh, Doctaire Zhack — ^is 
it right that I should have so much and others 
80 leetle? ” 

“ By George,” Dr. Jack told the nurse af- 
terward, “ you could have knocked me over. 
The kid wouldn’t take them and wear ’em with 
the rest of the youngsters in the relief camp in 
rags. Made me take them back and bring 
shoes for Jules who is barefoot, — and a coat for 
Pierre and stockings for Nanette. Oh, yes, 
she knows a lot of ’em. They’ve been in to see 
her. What do you know about that? ” 

“ The ugliness she has seen and lived will 
bring beautiful things to light,” the nurse re- 
plied wisely, and Dr. Jack nodded. 

“ Can’t help but like the kid better though,” 
he growled. 

So when Jeanne began to walk around 
again, it was, after all, in her old boy’s clothes. 
They were clean, they were whole, all except 
the shoes. She did permit Dr. J ack to get her 
a pair of shoes that fitted, and stockings. 


56 "Jeanne 

and one extravagance, — ^a pale yellow hair 
ribbon. 

“ I do want to look a little girl-y. Now, 
with these so pretty ribbon I look like J eanne.” 

She could not wait to leave the rough hos- 
pital shack. She wanted to get outdoors in the 
sunshine again, and the crowded quarters of 
the tent where she was put with a Belgian 
woman and six children made her happy as she 
had not been for weeks. 

“ Oh, I can do so much to help,” she cried 
to her faithful friend Dr. Jack on one of his 
weekly visits. “ I can dress them and feed 
them and help keep them clean. And I mend. 
Oh ! I am vairy beesy and I like it so. I do not 
have time for heavy pains here,” she laid her 
hand on her heart. 

“ How about your job? ” 

“ My job.” She chopped the word in a 
quick way and laughed. “ So very funny a 
word. My job — I like it. All the day when- 
ever Madame calls me, I run to hear the stories 
and tell her — quick — how it is with the so tired 
new ones. Oh, I hear many many sad things, 
so much more sadder than mine.” 

And Dr. J ack marvelled again at a little girl 


T'he Ride 


57 

of fourteen whose father and mother had been 
killed, whose home had been blown up, who 
had had to live for days like a rat in a hole and 
who had seen her grandmother suffer and die 
from exposure, — say that others had “ more 
sadder stories ” than hers. 

“ How do you explain that? ” he asked. 
“Oh! Don’t you see? They are not 
adopted. I am. They have no Dr. Zhack. 
I have. They have no home to go to. I have. 
They can have no clothes. I can — any time. 
When am I to go to Amerique ennahow? ” she 
asked abruptly. 

“ Not till the war’s over, Jeanne,” he replied. 
She looked up startled. 

“ Truly? ” she asked. 

“ Truly. It is a new law that orphans can- 
not leave the country until the war is over.” 

“And I mus’ stay here — years — maybe.” 
Jeanne’s eyes filled with tears. “ Doctaire 
Zhack, what is the time of the date? ” 

“ October 19th. Why?” 

“ By springtime I shall be in Amerique,” 
Jeanne made answer resolutely. 

Dr. Jack shouted with laughter and at 
the sound two or three newly arrived children 


58 "Jeanne 

scuttled in fright for the shelter of their tent 
near by. 

“ Going to make over the laws of your coun- 
try, kid? ” 

Jeanne dimpled. 

“ You laugh at one so small as me, saying so 
big a thing, but it is so. Somehow I will. I 
want to see my dear new Mama. She writes 
me such beautiful pretty letters. Listen,” and 
she began to read. 

“ ‘ Dear little Jeanne: 

“ ‘ Such a sweet name. I love it, and I 
love you. The little picture came and there 
you were in your sturdy overalls and piquant 
hair ribbon, smiling so happily at the cluster of 
babies about you. You must be busy and you 
look happy. I envy you your chance to help. 
I am enclosing a little money. Spend it for 
those who need it most.’ 

“A little!” Jeanne dropped the letter to 
spread her hands. “ With it I bought much 
milk for sick babies, and rubbers, and a pipe 
for old grandpere and a ball for Johnette and 
many other things.” 

“ What did you get for yourself? ” Dr. Jack 
asked. 


'The Ride 


59 

“ For myself? Nothing! ” she returned sur- 
prised. “ I have so much! ” 

“You have! What?” 

“ Oh — my sweet hair ribbon,” she patted its 
perky folds. “ But you interrupt. Listen. 

“ ‘ — need it most. 

“ ‘ I wish you were here. I am planning for 
Christmas already, for my box must go to you 
so much ahead. Perhaps next Christmas we 
may fee together. I shall not tell you what I 
am sending for you, but please keep some of it 
for yourself. 

“ ‘ Take care of my big nephew for me. He 
likes to work too hard.’ 

“ You see? ” Jeanne’s sunlight smile flashed 
again. “ I am your — boss ! ” 

“ I see; well, then, boss me away, for I must 
go.” 

“ But I have not jini*' 

“ And I can’t wait for you to ‘ feenee,’ ” he 
quoted her. 

“And you have not yet taken me for that so 
long ride,” she reproached him, looking up into 
his face. 

“ I’ll take you — Thanksgiving Day.” 

“ I will hold you to that promise, Doctaire 


6o "Jeanne 

Zhack. On the sixth veesit from now you will 
take me, yes?” 

“ Yes,” he promised and gave her little hand 
a big squeeze. 

All through the beautiful crisp fall Jeanne 
lived in the tent with the Belgian family, and 
soon her bright face and helpful ways made her 
a favorite and special concessions were made 
her. She could buy things in an emergency 
without pay because the storekeeper knew of 
her mama in America and that the money 
would come as soon as a note from Jeanne 
reached her. And she was allowed in the hos- 
pital, too, for her quick soothing fingers often 
brought relief to hot heads and another pair of 
deft hands was sorely needed at times. This 
work Jeanne loved, even more than the work 
with babies, and it was not long before she came 
to be sent for when the hospital was crowded. 
And the gate-keeper — though Jeanne did not 
always have her pass — would let her slip 
through with only a word and a smile; for she 
was always sure to return with full hands for 
somebody. 

Yes, Jeanne in her overalls and brown 
woollen blouse, and yellow hair ribbon was as 



>9 


“Well, How Would You Like to Get Aboard? 









6i 


T^he Ride 

happy as possible. She could keep half-way 
clean and she was fairly well fed and she was 
making others happier. And always there 
were letters from dear Mama, and every week 
a great big laugh with funny Dr. Jack. Oh, 
yes ! It was a good world and good to be alive. 

Finally came Thanksgiving Day clear and 
cold, with a light fall of snow over the country- 
side. Jeanne was up bright and early and set 
about her daily tasks so as to be ready when 
Doctaire Zhack should come to take her for the 
promised ride. She tidied up the tent, swept 
it, washed and dressed three of the six children, 
marshalled them in line to their breakfast and 
back again. This kept her so busy that the 
hearty American “ Hello ” startled her as she 
began to wash her own face and hands. 

“ Oh! Hello! ” she chopped out that word, 
as she did “ job.” “ I will soon be ready.” 

“ What have you warm to wear? ” Dr. Jack 
asked her sternly as she appeared before him a 
few moments later. 

“ These things that are on me,” she replied 
with a sidelong glance at him. 

“ Jeanne Lanier,” he scolded in genuine 
wrath, “ what did you do with that sweater and 


62 


yeanne 

those gloves I gave you? You were to keep 
them especially for to-day. You will freeze, 
IVe a good mind to leave you home.’' 

“Oh no! Please! Doctaire! You see 
others needed them more. Pierre had no 
blouse at all — ^and the gloves ” she begged. 

“No excuse. Now we will have to wait and 
get more before we start out on our ride. 
Come! No, not to the store. We wiU 
go into the street.” His eyes snapped blue 
fire. 

Meekly Jeanne followed him; meekly still 
she handed out her passport at the gate, and 
still meekly she climbed into the car beside Dr, 
Jack where he tucked her trousered self snugly 
in a big robe. As they started, her yellow rib- 
bon came undone and streamed lilve a bright 
banner behind them. 

Jeanne stole a glance at her friend’s stem 
face and decided it would be better not to ven- 
ture remarks just yet. 

“ It’s all right for you to be generous, 
J eanne,” he began abmptly, “ but it’s silly to 
be foolish. Suppose you get sick? One more 
person for Madame and the nurse to care for; 
one more person for me to worry about; and 


The Ride 


63 

Aunt Bee. Don’t let this happen again. Do 
you understand? ” 

“ I’ll try so vairy hard,” Jeanne promised in 
a subdued voice and at her docility Jack Kent’s 
face cleared suddenly. 

“All right, kid! Here we are. Out you 
hop. If we had more time I’d get you a whole 
outfit from head to foot just for punishment. 
As it is, we’ll only get a coat and hat and 
gloves.” 

In a few minutes Jeanne was bundled into 
the car again, — a queer little figure in her 
faded old blue overalls, smart new brown coat 
and fur gloves and chic hat, but she laughed 
merrily. She was warm, so neither she nor 
Dr. J ack cared how she looked. 

“ Where are we going? ” 

“ To the coast. I thought you’d like to see 
the ocean and some of the big ships.” 

“Oh, I’d love that much!” Jeanne cried. 
“ How far is it? I did not know we were so 
near! ” 

“ Only a few miles,” he replied. “Along a 
good boulevard, too. We’ll be there in no 
time. I had to choose a short ride because I 
have to get back.” 


64 "Jeanne 

“ So soon? ” she asked, darting a look of 
question to him. 

“ I’m — I may as well tell you — I’ve applied 
for a transfer and I look for orders any 
time.” 

“A — what is it you say? ” 

‘'A transfer,” he said, his mouth suddenly 
clamping. “ I’m tired of this sissy-behind- 
the-lines work. I want to get to the front.” 

Jeanne was strangely silent at this news and 
after a pause he glanced down at her. 

“ Well, boss? What do you say to that? ” 

“ I shall miss you,” she said briefly. “ It 
will be vairy, vairy lonesome, with no big laugh 
every week. I think I shall not laugh at all 
any more.” 

“ Oh, come now,” he began. 

‘‘ But truly ! Such sad things all the time 
to see and do and hear. Nobody laughs but 
you there.” 

Her face was shadowed and sad and old as 
she spoke. 

“ But you must go where you will do the 
most good, that is right. Everyone in France 
must go where he can do the most good.” 

“ That’s about the way I figured it out. 


rhe Ride 


65 

Women can take care of the people from dev- 
astated regions and ambulance drivers can get 
them. I’m a doctor. I’m going to get busy, 
— busier, — I mean. Well, we’re nearly there. 
Warm enough? ” 

“ Oh, ouil " she replied brightly. “ How 
white the road is — and all the country. Snow 
is pretty, I think.” 

They had been rolling through sparsely set- 
tled and quiet land. Now they approached a 
bustling town where movement seemed to stir 
even the still air. Here there were sailor boys 
— American sailor boys — flocking the streets, 
and in answer to their greetings Jeanne sent a 
timid wave. 

Suddenly she was thrilled to the centre of 
her being. She was at the ocean edge. Al- 
ready she could see the blue through the side 
streets; and now they were turning down one 
and riding out on a dock where all was confu- 
sion. Boxes, bales and barrels were being 
rolled and tossed and stacked. Men were 
shouting. Others were standing by giving or- 
ders or copying addresses. And of a sudden 
they were stopped and they got out and walked 
to the dizzy edge where loomed above them. 


66 yeanne 

miles above them, the great gray hull of the 
ship. 

“ Well, how would you like to get aboard 
and sail over to Aunt Bee? ” Dr. Jack asked 
teasingly. 

“ I should so love it,” she said slowly. ‘‘ I 
should so love it, I think I should cry.” 

“ Cry! Now wouldn’t that be silly? ” 

She nodded soberly. Then in silence they 
watched the men load the last barrels and boxes 
on the boat, watched the quick but orderly run- 
ning here and there; listened to the sharp com- 
mands, then the blast of the big whistle. 

At the last minute a sailor in uniform came 
to the gangway dragging a youngster who 
looked about twelve. 

“ Not this time, son,” he cried. “ Run back 
to mamma. So long.” 

And the ragged, scravmy boy scuttled down 
to the dock, turned and shook a thin, dirty fist 
at his enemy. 

" Quelquefois — quelquefois — ” he shouted. 

“Ya! Oui!^^ the sailor laughed back. 
“ Come again! ” 

“ What is it he was doing? ” Jeanne asked. 

“ Putting off a stowaway,” Dr. Jack made 


The Ride 


67 

answer. “ They always try to get on and the 
ship is always searched at the last minute. 
Some do get away with it, though.’’ 

They stood watching the great ship move 
with slow quiet dignity away from the dock. 
Out in the bay it turned, then with nose pointed, 
straight for the harbor where Jeanne glimpsed 
the endless blue, it began its long voyage. 


CHAPTER VI 


CHRISTMAS DAY 

“ There^s something, Doctaire Zhack, about 
which I wish to ask you,” Jeanne said when 
they had turned their faces toward home. 

Dark was slowly falling on a white peaceful 
looking world and as trees and hills grew 
darker against the paling sky, cold crept up 
from the earth and Jeanne snuggled down into 
her warm robe. 

“ Go to it,” Jack Kent replied. ‘‘ Shoot it.” 

“ I know nothing about how to shoot,” 
Jeanne answered soberly. “ If I did, and were 
a real boy, not a make-believe one, I should go 
fight those Boches.” 

“ What’s the idea that hangs heavy on your 
mind? ” Jack often steered her off sombre' 
subjects for he hated to see children meant for 
sunshine living in shadow, as Jeanne was. So 
far, in spite of the awfulness of her experience, 
she had maintained a remarkable serenity of 
spirit and sweetness. But this day-by-day el- 
68 


Christmas Day 69 

bowing of tragedy was beginning to leaw its 
mark and he was bothered. If she could only 
have been sent away to America, to new sur- 
roundings, before all the horrors and sadness 
became real to her! But it could not be, so 
Jeanne was growing an old mind and heart in 
a young body. 

“ Oh. Ouil " Jeanne was brought back 
abruptly. “ It will soon be Noel’s day. My 
box is on its way. It is vairy likely I will be 
the only one to receive a box this year and I do 
so desire to share it with all the other children. 
But that is not possible, for how could Mama 
send gifts for over two hundred enfants? 

“ She couldn’t.” 

“ But Noel’s Day must not be forgotten,” 
Jeanne cried. “You must see that! This 
year of all years, those enfants — children — 
must smile that day! And what can I do? ” 

She spread her hands and looked up at him 
— such a wee mite trying to give a bit of Christ- 
mas cheer to two hundred odd refugee children. 

“ Let me think,” Dr. Jack made answer and 
Jeanne settled back content. He would fix it 
certainement. Did he not always fix every- 
thing? 


70 


yeanne 

“ I have it! Just the thing! ” he cried, the 
next moment. “ How about a community 
Christmas tree? Like we have in old New 
York.’’ 

“ What is that, if you please?” Jeanne asked 
with interest. 

“ One great big tree lit up like — like — 
Coney Island, with stars and candles and 
things hung all over it and shiny gold stuff — 
you know.” 

“Yes! ” Jeanne cried eagerly. “ You have 
tapped the nail on the nose ! Is not that good 
American? ” she asked proudly. 

“ Splendid,” he laughed, but she rushed on. 

“ One grand, beeg tree in the centre of camp, 
in an open space, and all the children invited. 
Oh ! Could there not be a gift — a vairy leetle 
gift for each? ” 

“ Let me think ! ” he made answer again, and 
again Jeanne settled back contentedly to wait. 
“ Why sure! Two squares of chocolate apiece, 
why not? ” 

“ Good! ” J eanne cried.* “ Doctaire 2^ack! 
How you think!” she ended in admiration. 
“ Will you be here to help me get those 
things? ” 


Christmas Day 71 

“ Can’t say, little one, but I’ll make all ar- 
rangements with Jewels at the corner. He’s 
the guy to go to. And he’ll deliver the goods 
P. D. Q. O. K. on Christmas Day, See if he 
doesn’t — or my name’s Dennis. Don’t you 
worry.” 

“ I understand so leetle of what you say,” 
Jeanne’s forehead was puckered in her attempt 
to follow him. “ But worry I will not, most 
assuredly. I have only to wish — and presto! 
I have a new Mama — ^new clothes — Christmas 
trees — everything! ” 

As it turned out Dr. Jack Kent received his 
transfer for work at the front within the next 
week. Jeanne did not see him again. She 
was bitterly disappointed at not having a fare- 
well with him, and for days after his departure 
she was a forlorn and heartsick little girl. Her 
joyousness was gone and her face, so sad and 
old for one so young, was no longer transfig- 
ured by her sunlight smile. Those of the shift- 
ing population who had come to know her 
asked her if she was sick. 

“ Only here,” she would reply, laying her 
hand on her heart. “ I can with difficulty pull 
a breath past it.” 


72 ’Jeanne 

However her plans for a small bit of Christ- 
mas joy soon absorbed her, and she with Ma- 
dame DuPont and the nurse trimmed the 
Christmas tree themselves, in great secrecy, 
Christmas Eve. Stacked under it were four 
mounds of equal sized packages, small, but 
bright with their tinsel coverings and bits of 
red ribbon. 

“Oh, it is perfect! It is beautiful!” 
Jeanne stood back and surveyed it with clasped 
hands. “Now I can with happiness open the 
box chere Mama sent to me, but I will not open 
it in my tent. No — that makes the little ones 
so hungry-eyed. If I may, I will bring it to 
you? ” 

“ Surely, Jeanne,” Madame DuPont made 
reply. “ In my room, we three will open our 
boxes from home and enjoy ourselves for a 
while.” 

So back to her tent Jeanne flew and pulled 
out the big box from under her bumpy mat- 
tress. Tiptoeing so as not to waken the sleep- 
ing family, she hurried back to the little bare 
room connected with the hospital which was, 
Madame DuPont’s only privacy. 

She and the nurse were already opening 


Christmas Day 73 

theirs and J eanne, with eyes alight and quiver- 
ing fingers, flew at the string and paper around 
hers. 

“ Oh! Oh! ” she cried on her knees before 
it as she threw off the cover. “ See! My 
friends! See! So many many! Soap! and 
the cunning box to hold it ! And a hair brush 
and comb, — Mama never knew till lately that 
I had none, — and little scissors and all the little 
things to fix my hands and be a lady. I do not 
like to be a boy,” she made a quick confidence. 
“ But see! Mama has played a joke on me. 
She knew I would not wear the pretty dresses 
so she sends me another pair of overalls. It is 
good. Daylight peeps through at me already 
in these that I wear, and behold ! the warm un- 
derclothes — six! oh! I shall keep one and the 
rest ” 

“ Now, Jeanne,” the nurse cried, knowing 
Jeanne’s failing, “those are all yours. You 
must not give any away.” 

“ But I have not twelve legs ! ” J eanne cried. 
“And to keep them till those wear out! Non! 
That’s wicked. I keep one set only and the 
sweater and shoes. The rest, my roommates, 
as Doctaire Zhack says, shall have.” 


74 


Jeanne 

Christmas Day dawned like any other day 
for all those in the relief camp. There was the 
same shivering in the air till the blood started ; 
the same meagre breakfast procured in line or 
cooked before a fire in front of the tents; the 
same dreary routine of tent cleaning and pre- 
tense at basketry; the same dull watching of 
passers-by; the same feeble ciying of children 
and curses of men. 

So the day wore by. 

But at dark the inhabitants were roused 
from their lethargy by a mysterious excitement 
in the air. Word was passed to assemble at 
the open space by the hospital door and, won- 
dering, hoping for they knew not what, they all 
began straggling forward. 

Once there the children were pushed to the 
front of the semicircle and all eyes strained 
through the gloom to see what could be behind 
the white sheet that hung before them. 

Of a sudden Jeanne’s little voice was 
heard. 

“ Nowl Madame DuPont! Now is the mo- 
ment! Quick!” 

Down fell the sheet and on blinked the hun- 
dreds of tiny colored lights that festooned the 


Christmas Day 75 

big Christmas tree before the startled crowd’s 
gaze. 

There was a gasp from the youngsters and 
that was Jeanne’s thanks. Smiling she went 
from group to group. 

“ Is it not joUe? she cried. “ Is it not 
most beautiful? And see at the top ! An an- 
gel! She brings you hope! ” 

This brought tears and sobs to many deso- 
late war-weary women, — tears that spelled re- 
lief from the strain of composure, and Jeanne 
was instant sympathy for those she loiew. 
Then she looked at the children. Not a smile 
in all their dull, frightened, eager, astonished 
little faces. Not a smile — just amazement at 
seeing something pretty once again. 

Jeanne was heartsick, then she spun to the 
tree and with her golden curls gleaming and 
her beautiful eyes like stars, she called to those 
old little youngsters: 

“ See! My children! See! Noel did not 
forget you. There is a petite gift for all. 
Here! Voila! Catch!” 

And she began throwing the shining bits of 
chocolate to them. 

For a space there was no movement. Then 


76 Jeanne 

slowly they understood and as the bright bon- 
bons pattered down on their heads they stooped 
to gather them up, turning to their neighbors 
to be sure each had one. 

And behold! There came little smiles; 
timid, teary, wistful, happy, swift- vanishing 
smiles. 


CHAPTER VII 


ORDERS 

Afi'er Christmas life in the relief camp be- 
came joyless to J eanne. In the first place her 
scantily clothed, ill nourished, thin little body 
suffered tortures from the cold. Their tent 
had no wooden floor as had many, and at night 
Jeanne huddled herself into a ball and tried to 
sleep and could not, for the cold — the dreadful 
cold. 

In the daytime it was a little better. One 
could move, and there was sometimes sunshine 
— and always something to do for someone, so 
that one’s own troubles were forgotten. 

Then, too, no word had come from Dr. J ack. 
Daily Jeanne hoped and prayed for a line or 
two but nothing came, and her loving, loyal 
little heart was filled with terrible fears. She 
did not know what the front was like exactly — 
but she knew what it did to people, and she was 
afraid. She tried to fancy how it would be to 
77 


78 yeanne 

hear roarings and crashings all the time such as 
she had heard for two nights in her little home 
town — and then she shuddered. But the doc- 
tor was hearing it. 

So she became thinner, and her eyes bigger 
until at last the nurse began making her drink 
a little precious milk every day. This she had 
a chance to do, for Jeanne’s refuge was the 
hospital. Day after day she was there with 
the exhausted old women and pathetic fleshless 
yellow shapes that were babies. 

“ If you do not drink this you will be sick 
and cannot help me any more — and I must 
turn frohi these people to help you,” the nurse 
would say. 

So Jeanne, fearing to become an added bur- 
den, would drink. 

It was fortunate for the lonely little girl that 
she had made real friends of these two good 
people, Madame DuPont and the nurse. 
Otherwise it would have gone hard with her, 
for no other family could lift itself from its 
own troubles to lighten anyone else’s. But 
there came a time when even these two could 
not help her solve a big problem that came to 
her. 


Orders 


79 

For “ orders ” had come to the relief camp, 
— orders to evacuate. 

Jeanne never knew whence these orders 
came, but early in March, when mud was knee- 
deep in the narrow streets between the tents, 
and living was more intolerable than with the 
cold of winter, — for rain was always making 
still more mud, — at this time came the orders. 

“ But why, Madame? ” Jeanne asked her in- 
dignant friend, bewildered. 

“Why? You ask me why? How do I 
know? These stupid things that happen! 
Perhaps it is that the Duchess of something 
has decided to turn this into a hospital and 
sanitorium for the blind. This place that we 
have only just now made livable, — where we 
have worked and worked, — we are now to de- 
part from. Oh! Yes! It is a splendid thing 
for the blind soldiers. They need it. This 
place will be a park and here they will learn 
trades and have amusements. But we — ^what 
are we to do? Tell me that? ” 

“ You tell me! ” Jeanne said. 

Madame spread her hands. 

“ Some go here — some go there — as best 
they can. They must move on, bag and bag- 


8o 


Jeanne 

gage, and they so tired, so old, — and just be- 
ginning to be a little happy once again/' 

Jeanne left her and wandered away to think. 

Where would she go? With whom? What 
for? She did not know. A desperate, desolate 
feeling nearly overwhelmed her, then she 
fought it back with upflung head. 

“ I am to be brave whatever happens," she 
thought. “ But I do wish Doctaire Zhack 
were here. I do not want to wander about 
here and there. I want to go to America to 
my new Mama. Why will they not let me? " 

Of a sudden a picture flashed before her 
eyes, — a picture of a great ship just ready to 
sail and a gangway down which came a scrawny 
boy. Then Dr. Jack's words came back to 
her. 

“ He's putting off a stowaway. The ship is 
always searched the last minute. Some do get 
away with it though." 

Jeanne stood still as the immensity of the 
thought filled her. 

“If I could!'* she breathed. “And why 
not? It will be one mouth less for Holland to 
fill. No one will miss me. No one will care. 
I do so little good, nothing that others cannot 


OrcIe?^s 


8i 

do in one-half the time. I take up a bed much 
needed by someone else. Yes, I will go.” 

Then she laughed aloud the little spilling 
laugh that she had not made for months. 

“ Did I not say it would be so to Dr. Jack? 
‘ By the springtime I will be in America! ’ I 
will! I will!” 

Her determination strengthened with the 
days, and she began to lay careful plans ac- 
cordingly. She would stay until the day of 
evacuation, then she would straggle out with 
the others, with her little pack under her arm. 

Her pack! That was food for much thought. 
Of course her coat and hat and gloves that Dr. 
Jack had bought her Thanksgiving Day she 
could not take. She managed to exchange 
these with an eager girl her size for an old extra 
blouse, an old cap, a pair of stockings and worn 
mittens. And her hair she must cut short 
again; and her hair ribbon must be dispensed 
with. Also her manicure set. In the end she 
kept rolled inside her old overalls a change of 
underwear, the brush and comb and two pre- 
cious handkerchiefs. The extra blouse she 
wore under her sweater for warmth, and the 
cap she pulled snugly over her short hair. 


82 


yeanne 

It was a sad day indeed toward the end of 
March when the camp began to disgorge its 
load of stricken humanity. As if in sympathy 
for their sorry estate the world was weeping 
with them and the rain came down in a steady, 
persistent, penetrating drizzle. 

That made no difference. The day was set 
and go they must. With bundles on heads, 
old folk and young folk trundled in wheelbar- 
rows, with a chill in their hearts that froze all 
tears, these homeless people began their for- 
ward march to another place that must do for 
home. 

Jeanne went with the rest. The rain did 
not soak through her sweater and two blouses 
but it soon soaked through her thin worn boots. 
She could hear it sucking around under her 
feet as she walked. 

And the mud! The sticky, filthy mud! 
Jeanne grit her teeth and hauled her weary 
feet in and out and plodded on. At first she 
kept with the Belgian family she had lived 
with, but gradually she let them slip ahead of 
her. They did not notice. They did not care. 
Their misery was too great. Six little one#» 
help along this awful road for miles ! 


Orders 


83 

Soon Jeanne slipped out of the line to tie 
her shoe-lace, then to rest, then to rest again, 
until she found a chance to hide behind a big 
tree while the final stragglers struggled by. 
At last she was alone! And nobody would 
miss her! 

Her heart began beating furiously with ex- 
citement, and her courage flowed back so 
strongly that she forgot muddy wet feet, and 
retraced her steps back — back — until she came 
to the crossroads. Ah! Here it was! The 
shining white boulevard she and Dr. Jack had 
travelled over so swiftly so many months be- 
fore. 

As she walked she began to be glad. In the 
first place there was no mud, — of course, some, 
— but not to one’s knees as before. And in the 
second place there was a short note from Dr. 
Jack in the pocket of her blouse. She felt it 
crinkle and crackle as she put her hand on it. 
It had come yesterday, and it read: 

“ Dear Jeanne: 

“ Have written twice, but in case they 
didn’t go through, will send this. Am back a 
way for a rest. I’ve been doing work, — real 
work, — God’s work for God’s finest men. Give 


84 Jeanne 

my love to Aunt Bee when you write. Tell 
her I’m O. K. Be good. When are you go- 
ing to America? 

“ Jack Kent.^^ 

“ He does not know that even now I am go- 
ing. Oh! But I am glad he is safe.” 

But the third reason that made her happy 
enough to ignore weariness and discomfort was 
the thought that she was at last going to Amer- 
ica. That she might fail never entered her 
head. She must not fail. She had no other 
place to go. Surely so little a person as she 
could hide in that great big ship. 

So mile after mile she plodded on. The 
drizzle turned to a steady rain and in time it 
soaked through the neck of her wool sweater 
and two blouses and began to trickle down 
Jeanne’s back. The gladness dulled a bit, and 
finally resolved itself into a grim determina- 
tion. 

She looked around. Where was she? Oh, 
yes! She remembered that funny fence and 
the lopsided house. About half the distance 
was covered, and six miles more to go. 

She began to wonder if a boat would be there 
all ready to go or if she would have to wait 


Orders 


85 

days, maybe. She had only a little food, not 
enough to last long, and some she must eat now 
for she was weak and faint with hunger. 

She sat herself down on a rock, under a tree 
where the rain came through less easily and 
pulled a bit of bread and a few dry prunes from 
her pocket. Both were wet through, but that 
was as well, for then the thirst would not drive 
her crazy. 

When she got up she was so stiff and tired 
she nearly fell, but she caught herself and ex- 
erted her will to its utmost and struggled on. 

It seemed to take her twice as long to walk 
the last few miles and to reach the bustling 
town, but with head bent she stuck at it until 
at last — at last — she came to the side street 
down which she and Dr. Jack had ridden. 

And was she dreaming? No! For there, 
through the mist and the rain loomed the great 
hull of a steamer! 

It was waiting for her — waiting to take 
J eanne to America. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A JOURNEY BEGUN 

Although it was not dusk, the rain and 
clouded sky made the day's ending seem near 
at hand. Jeanne was thankful for this. Per- 
haps in the dark she could run up the gangway 
without being seen, and lie down and hide. 
That would be good — oh, very good; for she 
was tired. 

She stood at a distance from the busy men. 
She was pretty sure by the familiar activity 
that the time for sailing was near at hand. 
How lucky she was! In her excitement she 
forgot to mind the wet and the aches and the 
hunger and her heart beat high with anticipa- 
tion. The next instant she was so frightened 
she felt like one big hole. 

For a hand had grasped her by the shoulder 
and jerked her to one side. 

“ Look out there, sonny! Can’t you see? ” 

She looked up into the face of an officer as a 
load of boxes was trundled by her so close as 
nearly to touch her foot. 

86 


A yourney Begun 87 

‘‘ Oh, thank you! ” she murmured in French. 

“ What you waiting for? ” he asked suspi- 
ciously, seeing her ragged, wet appearance. 
“A free ride? Nothing doing. Better move 
on,” he continued, waving her away with both 
hands. *'Voila! Desappearez-vous/' 

Jeanne almost laughed at his ridiculous 
French, but her terror soon drove away that 
desire. She was suspected already. Quickly 
she decided to leave the dock for a while, so she 
went away down the side street, waited a few 
moments, then stole back again and peered 
around. 

The officer was gone, — and most of the men. 
She caught her lip between her teeth and began 
to make her way toward the ship. Almost all 
the time she could slip from one box or barrel 
to another but close to the foot of the gangway 
stood a group of sailors. Should she try to get 
past them? Or should she wait? It was a 
terrible risk to take if she ventured to dodge 
past them, — and yet — and yet 

Suddenly a whistle blew and the group dis- 
persed running in various directions. Two or 
three strode up the shiny wet gangway and 
quick as a flash Jeanne slipped from her hid- 


88 


yeanne 

ing-place and stole like a shadow behind them. 
It was now nearly dark, but on deck things 
seemed lighter. Jeanne threw a hasty glance 
around then quickly ducked behind a huge coil 
and held her breath. The sailors passed and 
their footsteps soon died away. She was safe. 

For a long five minutes she held herself 
rigid, curled uncomfortably on the deck behind 
the coiled rope, shivering with cold and fright 
and excitement. 

“ Eef somebody should pass me near now 
they would certainly hear my teeth to rattle. 
I cannot hold them together,” she thought. 

Soon came the realization that she must find 
a better place to hide. This was too exposed 
to discovery and weather. Cautiously she put 
her head out to peer around and then jerked it 
back with wide round eyes. 

For not two feet from her stood the officer 
who had spoken to her on the dock below. 
And his glance had met hers she was sure. 
She was petrified with horror and unable to 
move or think. 

It was not necessary, for in one long stride 
the master at arms was beside her and pulling 
her from her hiding-place. 


A journey Begun 89 

“ I knew it,” he said briefly. “ You can’t 
understand a word I say so I won’t waste my 
breath. But you know what I mean. Now 
get!” 

It was a rude shove and it sent the weak 
little girl fairly spinning down the gangway. 
At the foot she fell in the slippery mud and 
when she had managed to pull her bruised and 
aching body upright once again she could not 
keep the tears back. 

Sob after sob came up from the depths of 
her, tore through her small frame and gulped 
out into the air. She rammed her dirty hands 
in her eyes and stumbled blindly to a box a lit- 
tle out of the way and sank down. 

Oh dear! what was the use of being brave? 
She had been brave for so long! And it had 
done her no good. There was no sense in try- 
ing to help herself any longer. A little girl 
could not do it all alone. 

Despair and loneliness were having their 
way with her when another voice spoke at her 
side. But this voice was different. It rang 
with friendliness. 

“Hello, kid! Get caught?” 

She looked up out of sheer amazement at the 


90 Jeanne 

warmth in his tones, and saw a sailor dressed 
in overalls and middy. His face was ruddy 
with health and beaming with kindliness and 
good nature. When he saw the white suffer- 
ing in the strained face turned up to his he 
stopped grinning and his next question was 
serious. 

“ Starved, aren’t you? Comprenez En- 
glish ? ” he ended abruptly. 

“ Oh, yes, I speak it! ” she replied eagerly. 

“ My hat! ” he ejaculated. 

“ I am an American,” she went on hurriedly, 
pouring out her story to the first sympathetic 
ears she had found since the days of Dr. Jack. 
“ My father was an American — ^my Mama was 
French. Both are just killed last fall — and 
my Grandmere. I am all alone but I have a 
new Mama in America. She wants me to 
come. I want to go, but it is the law that no 
enfants shall leave the country until apres la 
guerre — after the war.” In her eagerness to 
make him understand she clasped and un- 
clasped her hands and her big eyes were wide 
and bright with wistfulness. Her words tum- 
bled forth — a jumble of English and French 
— but he managed to understand, to see the 


A journey Begun 91 

real physical suflPering, the brave little spirit 
almost outworn now in its battle against such 
odds, the unhappiness and misery if she were 
left here, the probable joy and comfort for her 
if she could only reach America. 

“ Look here, kid,” he seated himself on a 
plank beside her and began talking in a low 
rapid voice, “ IVe got a brother just your size. 
You remind me of him, only he’s well — husky. 
You’re not. I’ll help you, but you’ve got to 
keep your nerve and quit crying. Can you? ” 

His sudden keen glance at her reminded her 
of Dr. Jack’s steel-blue eyes and she stiffened 
as though fired by a new hope. 

“ I can be brave and strong,” she said sim- 

ply- 

“ Sure you can. Then listen. The boat 
sails at eight. It’s five-thirty now. It will be 
dark in an hour. Go get something to eat be- 
tween now and then. There’s a shop at the 
end of that street ” 

“ But I have no money,” she protested. 

He crammed some into her hand for answer 
and at her start and refusal he waved for si- 
lence. 

“ You can’t do what you’ll have to do unless 


92 yeanne 

you stoke up. Get your mess then slip baek 
here.” 

He looked around quickly then up at the 
ship and nodded decisively. 

“ Yes, right here. Crawl into that empty 
box behind you. Keep your eyes peeled and 
your ears empty. About ten minutes before 
the boat sails I'll whistle like this — and I’ll let 
down a rope. Tie it around your waist, grab 
it with both hands above and hang on. I’ll 
haul you up. Can you do it? ” 

Jeanne nodded eagerly. 

“ Oh, you are so bon — good to me. Thank 
you,” she whispered. 

“ Wait till I’ve done it,” he replied 
brusquely. “ Now beat it and fill up.” 

Jeanne darted down the dock like a small 
wraith and disappeared in the deepening gloom 
of the side street. The sailor watched her with 
a sober expression in his jolly round face. 

“ It’s part of my bit,” he said. “ Wish I 
could do more. Gosh! I’d like to fight the 
Boches that leave little kids like that alone in 
the world. Poor kid! Spunky as they make 
’em but nearly all in. Well, now I’ll hunt up 
Bert and get his help.” 


A "Journey Begun 93 

Wliistling cheerfully once again he made for 
the gang'way and ran up it. 

J eanne, in the meantime, was certainly filling 
up. She had not meant to spend all the kind 
sailor's money but the smell of food had been 
too much for her. 

When she had finished she sighed content- 
edly and leaned back to look about her. She 
still had almost an hour before she need go back 
to the dock, and impatient as she was, she was 
not eager to huddle in the box in the rain until 
she had to. 

Her gaze wandered about the small room. 
She saw mostly men. They were a rough, 
good-natured noisy lot, the majority clad in 
seamen's clothes. But one man she saw in the 
crowd attracted her attention by his neatness. 
He was middle-aged, — his gray beard and hair 
assured her of that, — and as she looked at him 
he glanced up and smiled. 

Jeanne, heart hungry for friendliness, 
smiled back and in a moment the well-dressed 
stranger was leaning over her table. 

“ May I join you? " he asked politely. 

“ But surely," Jeanne said. “ I stay only 
a few moments, however." 


94 yeanne 

“ Ah! You go perhaps on the ship that will 
sail at eight o’clock? ” 

His suddenly piercing gaze startled J eanne. 
How stupid she had been! What should she 
do now? He was of course a detective, — or 
at least somebody important who could keep 
her off. She caught her breath in dismay. He 
read her thoughts swiftly. 

“ You need not be afraid. We cannot all 
buy tickets so some must use their cunning. I 
understand.” He smiled again and Jeanne 
was a bit reassured. “ I ask because I am so 
anxious to have an important errand in 
America attended to. I have watched all even- 
ing for someone with intelligence; but these 
clumsy louts who come here — bah!” 

His disgust for them, and appreciation of 
her, flattered Jeanne. 

“ Why surely,” she said, “ if I go to America 
I shall be glad to do for you what I can.” 

He leaned forward suddenly, drawing pen- 
cil and note-book from his hand. As he wrote 
he talked in a low, rapid voice. 

“ Go to this place as soon as you can,” he 
ordered and his guttural voice and imperative 
manner reminded her of the German ofiicers 


A yourney Begun 95 

she had seen in her home. She drew back 
slightly and instantly he was suavely polite 
again. 

“ It will be a great favor. I am very eager 
to get these records for my music box. They 
are for my old mother. She is blind and can- 
not do anything but sit with folded hands. She 
loves music. I have tried to get these in this 
countiy but one can buy naught but ammu- 
nition and food these days. Music is a luxury. 
It will be her birthday in six weeks and I 
wanted to give these to her. You have a 
grandmother? ’’ 

Jeanne shook her head. 

“Not now. But I understand how it is 
and I shall make all haste to order them for 
you.” 

“ I wrote the numbers of the records below 
the address. You will not understand, but Mr. 
Bachrach, the owner of the store, he will know. 
Thank you. You have taken a load off my 
mind.” 

He left her so suddenly that Jeanne became 
suspicious again. He might return with po- 
licemen or something and arrest her! As soon 
as he was out of sight she slipped from the 


96 yeanne 

shop and out into the darkness of the night 
again. 

Warmed within if not without, she crept into 
the big empty box where she was protected 
from the steady drizzle, and set herself to 
counting the minutes. 

She heard the ship bells twice but she did not 
know what they meant. The bustle and activ- 
ity seemed to increase but Jeanne did not dare 
to peer out. She was so afraid of being left 
but still more afraid of being discovered at the 
last minute, so she huddled herself into a small 
bundle and waited. 

Suddenly her strained senses were startled 
by the whistle. She jumped, and then scram- 
bled out of the box. About her there seemed 
to be no one, but on shipboard she heard much 
noise. She peered up — ^up — up the dark side 
of the ship and saw two forms leaning over. 
The whistle was repeated. She tried to answer 
it but could not. Then something hit her head. 

It was the rope. With trembling, fumbling 
hands she caught the unwieldy thing and tried 
to knot it about her waist. It was so thick and 
stiff and her hands were so cold she could not 
make it stay. She tried and tried and the knot 


A yourney Begun 97 

she at last fastened she knew would not hold 
if any strain were put on it. 

Another whistle came from above. Jeanne 
made some sort of an answering noise, grasped 
the rope with both hands tight and felt herself 
suddenly being lifted. 

She twisted and turned and spun as she 
hung in the air, and when she looked down and 
saw blackness below her she was so frightened 
she let out a little gasp. 

But that would not do. She must save her 
breath for holding tight. She looked up. 
Such a long way to go yet! And her hands, 
numb with cold, were slipping, slipping. They 
burned and hurt but still she clung. 

Once she banged against the side of the ship 
and when she swung out again the knot had 
come unfastened. She was held by nothing 
now but her two little hands and grit. She 
closed her eyes and held tight. Faintness came 
and nausea but she fought them back and sud- 
denly an arm was under her. She was lifted 
bodily and held. Her hands, clamped like 
claws about the rope, she could not loosen. 
Someone ]Dried her fingers open. 

She was too dizzy and weak to speak, but 


98 yeanne 

she fluttered her eyes in a signal that she was 
all right. 

“ Keep still. You don’t have to do anything 
more. I’ll do it,” the kind voice she remem- 
bered said, and then she was carried — ^miles. 

Down — down — down they went. Jeanne 
lost track of the number of ladders. At last 
the endless journey was done and she was laid 
down. 

“ Where am I? ” she asked, staring about in 
the gloom. 

In the peak,” he made answer. “ That’s 
way up at the bow of the ship as far below 
decks as you can get. It’s the best place for 
stowaways. Now I’ve got to leave you. I’ll 
bring you some chow later. In the morning 
you’ll be able to see a little. Don’t try to 
move, and don’t be scared. I’ll be back soon.” 

In a second he was gone and Jeanne’s life 
as a stowaway began. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE STOWAWAY 

After a time Jeanne’s eyes became used to 
the gloom and she saw that she was in a little 
three-cornered cubbyhole about eight or ten 
feet across at its widest part. There was noth- 
ing in it at all. 

She began to feel the reaction from the ex- 
citement and strain of the day and for the first 
time she realized how wet and cold she was. 
Sitting up she pulled off her soggy shoes and 
stockings and soaked overalls and sweater. 
Then from inside her inner blouse where she 
had kept them folded flat against her, she took 
out her one extra suit of underwear and stock- 
ings. In a few moments she had rubbed her- 
self into a glow with her damp top blouse and 
had snuggled herself into the warm clothing. 
Fortunately her inner blouse had remained 
quite dry except around the neck-band and 
Jeanne felt that she would not feel the need 
of more clothing, for the “ peak,” as the sailor 
99 


lOO 


yeanne 

had called the little room, was quite stuffy. 
She spread her wet clothes on the floor to dry 
as best they might, then she crossed her arms 
under her head and lay down again with her 
small stockinged feet stretched before her. 

The floor was hard and there was little fresh 
air but after all she was very well off. She was 
not hungry nor cold and — oh! joy of joys — 
she was at last on her way to America and her 
new mama. 

For the ship Avas moving. She felt a slight 
movement and drew a long breath. Yes, she 
was on her Avay, and now perhaps in ten days, 
perhaps in tAvo Aveeks, she Avould be in NeAv 
York. What AA^ould she do Avhen she got there? 
She had not thought that out. She tried to, 
as she lay there, but her body was too tired 
and her mind refused to Avork. In a few mo- 
ments she Avas fast asleep. 

So the big sailor found her when he stole in 
an hour later. In one hand he held a small 
flashlight, in the other a plate of food and 
Avater. As his glance rested on the neatly 
spread Avet garments on the floor, then on the 
slim outstretched figure before him, he Avhistled 
in astonishment. 


101 


T^he Stowaway 

“ Knows how to make himself at home. 
Guess he’s stowed away before,” he murmured. 
Then his light lit on the tiny slender feet and 
instantly a look of comprehension swept over 
his face. From the small feet to the big shoes 
drying, then back to the face his eyes travelled 
swiftly. At last he set the plate down and 
leaned quietly over Jeanne as she lay there, and 
studied her for a few minutes. 

There was no mistaking the delicate pointed 
chin, despite its resoluteness ; there was no mis- 
taking the sweep of dark lashes and curve of 
cheek despite its grime ; there was no mistaking 
the little hand which rested over her heart, and 
— he caught up something from the floor, then 
grinned broadly — there was no possible mis- 
taking the ivory brush and comb and two wee 
handkerchiefs. 

Just at this moment Jeanne’s eyes opened 
slowly. 

“Hello!” said the sailor brisldy. “I 
brought some chow for you. Hungry? ” 

“ I guess so,” Jeanne answered, as she strug- 
gled up to a sitting position. “ I am sore,” she 
said, explaining her stiffness. “ The wet got 
into my bones and rusted them, I think.” 


102 


yeanne 

He watched her as she began nibbling 
daintily at the food he had brought her. To be 
sure she was not very hungry; on the other 
hand a boy, no matter how satisfied he felt, 
would not manage as skillfully with his fingers 
as she did. 

“ Why is it you stare and stare so? Am I 
then so funny to behold? 

“ It’s my bet,” the boy made answer sud- 
denly, “ that your name is more Jean than 
John.” 

His direct glance was most disconcerting and 
before it Jeanne’s eyes dropped and the color 
mounted. 

“ It is so,” she said at last. “ For that rea- 
son no one can dare to punish me too severely.” 

The shrewdness of this remark set her com- 
panion to laughing. And as suddenly Jeanne 
pushed the plate from her and leaned back 
against the bulkhead. 

“ What’s the trouble? ” he asked, instantly 
sober. 

J eanne shook her head. 

“ Everything within me seems to be stirring 
and turning over, and perhaps, coming up. I 
wish you would go.’’ 


The Stowaway 103 

“ Seasick,” he muttered. “ Poor kid. All 
right. Bye-bye for now. I’ll be back in the 
morning. Here, don’t you want this glass of 
water? ” 

“ Put it there,” J eanne said feebly and 
groaned as he went out. 

The days that followed were timeless to 
J eanne. In her misery she could hardly even 
thank her friend for all he did for her. 

It was little enough of course, but his few 
attentions did make life more bearable. A wet 
cloth now and then that she might wash ; water 
to drink ; a sweater for warmth if she was cold 
and for a pillow when she slept. He left his 
flashlight with her so that the dark might not 
seem so long and lonely. Food she scarcely 
touched. 

“ It is the air that I want,” she said to him 
the third day. “ I feel that I can scarcely 
breathe. Could I not go with you some night 
in the dark and breathe real air again? I am 
so used to sleeping outdoors. All winter I 
have slept in a tent. And this gives me a bad 
head and the mal de mer.” 

He deliberated a moment and at last 
nodded. 


104 yeanne 

“All right, to-night we’ll try it. Can’t do a 
thing but get caught.” 

“What would they do to me?” Jeanne 
asked more out of curiosity than fear. 

“ Can’t say,” he replied teasingly. “ They 
might set you to keeping the fires going or 
scrubbing the decks.” 

“ That I could not do,” Jeanne answered. 
“ I am not beeg enough, but I could wait on 
table.” 

That night when the sailor came for her 
Jeanne was more than ready. She had even 
dared to steal a little way to meet him, in her 
eagerness. 

“ You must be feeling better,” he said in a 
whisper. 

She nodded. 

“ When I get above I shall be O. K.,” she 
replied. The little American slang came very 
oddly from her but he did not dare laugh aloud. 

“ Follow me and hang tight; the old boat is 
pitching about some.” 

So Jeanne found it. Desperately she clung 
to the first ladder as she started crawling up it 
and when she reached the top, she sank down 
and called to him. 


T^he Stowaway 105 

“ Please be so good as to wait. Things are 
so funny. The boat always goes a different 
way at a different time and my legs do not 
know what to expect. I cannot steer myself 
so well.” 

“ Better let me carry you,” he offered and 
before Jeanne could stop him she was caught 
up like a feather. He made no work at all of 
the steep ladders and pitching decks and with 
almost no hold at all he ran up and across, up 
and across — until at last Jeanne saw above her 
the blessed heavens. 

“ Oh, c'est bon — it is good,” she sighed draw- 
ing a long breath, then of a sudden the sailor 
halted. It was so sudden that Jeanne knew 
something was wrong. She lifted her head 
and — horrors ! 

Facing them with a stern inquisitory look on 
his face stood the officer who had sent her off 
the ship once. 

“ So you did it after all. Then you must 
take your punishment. Report to the cap- 
tain,” he ordered the sailor briefly. 

In spite of his burden the lad saluted and 
still carrying Jeanne made his way to the ship’s 
captain, who was on the bridge. 


io6 yeanne 

“Put me down!” Jeanne said when they 
stood before him and once on her feet she 
steadied herself with her left hand and saluted 
smartly as the sailor did. 

“ Please, Monsieur Cupitaine/" she began, 
speaking very fast. “ You are not to blame 
this very good boy at all. He has simply saved 
my life. That is all. Without him I should 
have starved and drowned on the dock for I 
had no money nor clothes nor family and it 
poured. I desired to cross to America where 
my new mama will give me all those things. 
Without him I should have died like a rat in 
the peak for I had what you call the seasick, 
oh so bad. I made him bring me to the air 
to-night. I had to taste it once again. Al- 
ready I feel better ” 

Across the captain’s grizzled face had spread 
first astonishment, then amusement. He gave 
a curt nod of dismissal to the sailor boy. 

“ I’ll attend to you later.” 

He saluted and Jeanne was left alone to 
meet her fate. 

“ You will not hurt him? ” she questioned, 
following his retreating figure with troubled 
eyes. 


T'he Stowaway 107 

“ He will be punished properly for helping 
a stowaway. It is the rule. Now go on.” 

Jeanne was quick to see the kindliness that 
lay deep within the gray eyes, the smile lurking 
beliind the bristling mustache and with all the 
French animation and charm that was inherent 
in her she told her story. 

“ Why did you not join the army and fight 
the Germans? ” he asked when she had finished. 

“ If I could! ” she clenched her fists. “ But 
I am not what I seem. It is only the clothes 
that are boys. The rest of me is not.” 

“ Oh, I see,” he chewed his mustache. 
“ Well, that puts a different light on things. 
If you were a boy now I should make you work 

your way across. As it is ” he paused. 

Jeanne had caught the rail with both hands. 

“ What’s the matter? ” 

“ Your ship is so sudden.” She looked up 
flashing a smile at him. ‘‘ Now it is here — now 
there. The only way I can stand up is to lie 
down.” 

In the end Jeanne was given a bed, a real 
bed, in a real room where there was a wash- 
stand and a chair and hooks for clothes and 
towels. Such luxuries as these she had not 


io8 °Jeanne 

known for months. And she was allowed the 
freedom of the ship and meals with the officers. 

Furthermore a wireless was sent to her new 
mama telling of her expected arrival and the 
captain himself undertook to put her safely in 
Mrs. Stafford’s hands. 

The only blot on Jeanne’s joy was the 
absence of her friend the sailor boy. She knew 
he must be doing penance somewhere, but she 
could not find out how nor where. To all her 
queries came joking answers, and the trousered 
little queen, the only lady aboard, was sorely 
troubled. 


CHAPTER X 


AMERICA AT LAST 

But she saw him sooner than she had ex-^ 
pected. It was on the third night that she had 
been discovered. On the fifth as she was chat- 
ting with her now good friend the captain, they 
were suddenly startled from their ease by a 
voice. 

“ Submarine on the starboard! ” 

Instantly the captain was on his feet. In- 
stantly alarm bells sounded all over the ship. 
Instantly the crew began running in orderly 
haste to “general quarters,” — their posts in 
time of danger. 

“ Down there ” — ^the captain pointed to the 
deck below — “ by the life-boat. Find your 
friend. Tell him I say he’s to take care of 
you.” 

“ But you? ” 

“ I stay by the ship. Hurry! ” he ordered, 
and Jeanne slid and slipped and ran in all haste 
to the spot she had been told. Here the famil- 
109 


no 


yeanne 

iar face of her friend appeared and suddenly he 
was towering beside her. 

“ Don’t be afraid,” he said. “ I’ll take care 
of you.” 

Monsieur le Capitaine said so. I am not 
afraid.” 

She stood in silence while he buckled a life- 
belt about her; and still in silence she watched 
the purposeful quiet movements of those near 
her; listened to the few commands coming like 
cracks through the night air. 

She looked up at the heavens so vast and 
black and pricked through all over by millions 
and millions of tiny stars. Then she glanced 
down at the heaving black ocean. 

“ It is so big and beautiful,” she thought. 

It had been scarcely two minutes from the 
time the alarm had sounded to the time when 
“ she’s missed ” was sung out. During it 
Jeanne had not had one twinge of fear, only a 
reluctant thought of the possibility of her not 
reaching America and her new mama after all. 

Although they were safe — miraculously 
saved by scarcely more than a hair’s breadth — 
extra precautions v/ere taken during the rest of 
the night. The watch was doubled ; lights were 


Ill 


America at Last 

extinguished; absolute silence reigned and the 
course was zigzagged until they were well past 
the danger zone. 

“ But why should they fire on us? ” Jeanne 
asked the captain the next day. “ This is an 
American merchant ship, a peaceful business. 
Is it not so? It is not French or English.” 

“ That doesn’t seem to matter,” the captain 
replied dryly. “ If they are trying to stir 
America up they’ll be sorry too late. We’re 
a fast country when we get started. This 
makes me wish we’d start.” 

“ I wish so too.” Jeanne made thoughtful 
answer. “ Those wicked Boches must be 
stopped. It may be our French and English 
cannot do it alone. I have fear.” 

The remainder of the voyage w^as made in 
quiet. Jeanne’s seasickness disappeared as she 
became used to the rolling motion, and with 
fresh air, good food and care she soon began to 
get back some color and sparkle. She was a 
ready favorite with everyone, for all by now 
knew the story of her pluck. Hour after hour 
she would talk with the captain or the seamen. 

“ Why is it they must always scrub when 
things are always clean? ” she asked the captain 


112 yeanne 

one day, her eyes on some sailors swabbing the 
deck. 

“ We’re trying to make good wives out of 
them,” he replied with a twinkle. “ In the 
meantime it keeps them out of mischief.” 

“ They are tired sometimes — and there’s not 
one single chair for them to rest in.” 

“ They rest at night,” he made short answer. 

“ Is Monsieur Kelly all through being pun- 
ished? ” she asked. Tom Kelly was the name 
of her good Samaritan she had at last discov- 
ered. 

‘‘ Monsieur Kelly is good,” he murmured. 
‘‘ Yes, he’s had all his spankings now and if he 
behaves himself from now on he can have des- 
sert once in a while. Aren’t you a little 
ashamed to have gotten him into trouble? ” 

She looked up soberly into his grim kind 
face. 

“Ashamed — no. Sorry — ^yes. But it is the 
fault of your so stupid rules. What harm can 
a little thing like myself do? ” 

“ But if it weren’t for the rules there would 
be many little things like yourself swarming 
over the ship. And many would do great 
harm.” 


America at Last 113 

Across Jeanne’s wise-old little face flashed 
the smile so like sunshine and shadowed moun- 
tain tops, and the captain cried: 

“ Good. You must smile always, Jeanne. 
Always. You are beautiful when you do.” 

“ I — I — hoped I was beautiful always,” she 
murmured demurely, with downcast eyes. 

Certainement, my clothes are!” she ended. 
“Ah! How glad I shall be to get from these! ” 
She brushed her overalls impatiently. “ Do 
you think Mama will be there to meet me? 
Will you take care of me till I find her? I do 
not wish to trouble, but do you know? I am 
vairy, vairy tired of bossing myself.” 

“ I am very sure she will be there to meet 
you and if she is not either I or Monsieur Kelly 
will put you safely in her hands.” 

Sunny days — blue ocean — white clouds — 
this was the sum total of Jeanne’s existence 
that week. A little purring happiness was in 
her heart and she assured the captain that 
spring was here. She could smell things grow- 
ing even that far from land. 

“ That’s a wonderful nose you have there,” 
he replied. 

She squinted down it. 


114 


yeanne 

“ Wonderful with freckles — ^yes. They are 
so big and brown. Might I have some pieces 
of the lemon, Monsieur le Capitaine'i One 
says it may help.” 

He searched through his pockets soberly and 
diligently. 

“ I can’t seem to find any just now,” he 
sighed. “ I was sure I had some. But I tell 
you what, monsieur le cook will very likely 
have some. If you care to beg some of 
him ” 

This brought the sunny smile and as Jeanne 
ran away the captain was satisfied. It was 
queer how hard everyone tried to bring that 
smile to Jeanne’s face. It was the only thing 
that made it look young. Her eyes were 
brooding with memories, her mouth was wistful 
with sadness and her face in repose told of suf- 
fering and wisdom beyond her years. But the 
dimpling smile and the spilling laugh brought 
youth back, and all those who had once seen 
the transfiguration worked hard to see it 
again. 

“For if she can smile enough maybe some 
of the sadness will go,” they all thought. 

At last came the breathless day when land 


America at Last 115 

was first seen. Jeanne stared through the 
glasses. 

Oui — it is Amerique at last, beautiful 
America. I am a vairy lucky girl.” 

And the captain, watching her, was as 
amazed as Dr. Jack at her persistent faith in 
her good fortune. 

“ You are a diligent believer in the eternal 
all-rightness of things, aren’t you? ” he asked. 

“As soon as the Boches are licked, I will be,” 
she made answer. 

The hours seemed to crawl. Jeanne wanted 
to push the boat with her hands but her impa- 
tience did no good. It was night when they 
finally entered the harbor and saw the beautiful 
Statue of Liberty welcoming them with its 
blaze of light. 

Jeanne looked at it with tears in her eyes. 
She could not say why. Something too big for 
expression had risen in her and nearly over- 
whelmed her. The captain stood beside her 
bareheaded, sharing her mood. 

“ ‘ The land of the free and the home of the 
brave,’ ” he said at last softly. “ Say it, 
Jeanne, for this country is yours now.” 

“ ‘ The land of the free and the home of the 


ii6 Jeanne 

brave/ ” she repeated, ‘‘ and the home for lost 
children too,” she added. “ Think of it, Mon- 
sieur le Capitaine. Is it not wonderful that 
American mothers are adopting us — ragged 
and dirty and bad and good and learned and 
unlearned? They take us all — without so 
much as a picture, into their hearts and homes.” 

“ It is very wonderful,” he replied soberly. 

But it is, after all, very little; we should do 
more. We will do more.” 

“And is that New York?” Jeanne asked, 
for at last the city brilliant and magnificent in 
all its lights lay before her. “All that grand 
big stretch of brightness? Oh! It is marvel- 
lous. I cannot say how it is.” 

“ Don’t try,” he replied. “ Others have 
failed before you.” 

So in silence they rode majestically into the 
harbor and facing the shining city of warmth 
and light and plenty, they dropped anchor 
until morning. 


CHAPTER XI 


A NEW PREDICAMENT 

Despite their preoccupation and business 
almost everyone stopped to look and look 
again at the queer little figure perched on a 
huge box. For the contradictory appearance 
of the youngster was bewildering. 

There was first of all a shining head of beau- 
tiful pale gold curls that clustered about an 
alert delicately pink young old face in which 
big brown eyes stared and wondered and 
laughed. One could almost see the thoughts 
chasing behind their brown depths. 

Below the beautiful head and face was a 
slim body almost lost in a rough white middy 
of Monsieur Kelly’s. The sleeves had to be 
rolled up and up until they formed huge bulks 
above her elbow and the V neck had to be 
pinned together or Jeanne would have slipped 
through. The blouse and herself were snugly 
tucked inside a pair of worn, faded blue over- 
alls nearly the right size; but it was the feet 
that brought the smiles to the passer-by, for 
117 


ii8 yeanne 

Jeanne’s tiny ankles rose from a pair of man’s 
size white sneakers. Her own shoes had never 
been recovered. 

At the downward glance and the smile, 
Jeanne sometimes smiled back for, to her, her 
feet were funny too, and then strangers would 
look again, for with the smile had gone the 
sad, wise expression and pure bubbling merri- 
ment had appeared instead. But Jeanne for 
the most part was too absorbed hunting 
through the crowd to pay any attention to the 
many stares that came her way. 

At last the captain came back and Jeanne 
divined at once by the scowl on his face that 
something was wrong. 

“ You cannot find my new Mama,” she an- 
nounced quietly. 

“ You’re a fox, to guess so soon,” he replied, 
a smile struggling through his concern. “ But 
don’t let it worry you. I’ll telephone. Wait 
right here.” 

He was gone again and again Jeanne swung 
her funny feet and stared at the throng about 
her. Tom Kelly joined her for a few moments 
and expressed amazement and anger when she 
told him her newest trouble. 


A New Predicament 119 

“ What to do next, I know not,” she ended, 
feeling suddenly helpless. 

“ Now, Miss Jeanne, chase that look off 
your face. Why should you be troubling 
yourself with two big men like the captain 
and myself, ready to move heaven and earth 
for you? Say ” 

He darted suddenly back to his duties as he 
saw the captain approach. 

“ I can’t get their house,” he explained. 
“ Central says they don’t answer. I’ll try 
again latei*. In the meantime I’ve sent a tele- 
gram. And now, my dear ” 

The good man regarded her quizzically. 

“ What is it? ” she asked. 

“ I shall take you home to my mother to- 
night, but she wouldn’t let you in if you looked 
like that. We must go shopping.” 

Jeanne clapped her hands. 

“ Lovely ! And please keep very careful ac- 
count of all you spend for me, because I am so 
sure Mama will pay you baek.” 

Of the cross-examinations the captain had 
been submitted to; the papers he had shown 
and others he had signed; the money he had 
paid; and of multitudinous other details con- 


120 


Jeanne 

nected with the red tape of admitting a French 
refugee and stowaway into the country, — 
Jeanne was serenely unaware. As a matter of 
course she accepted his plans and when he ap- 
peared for the last time, with a big sigh of 
satisfaction and announced himself ready to 
buy out New York, she sprang down and 
trotted off obediently beside him. Passers-by 
regarded the strange pair curiously. 

He was aware of the attention Jeanne’s ap- 
pearance was attracting and as they reached 
the street his look of embarrassment changed 
to one of sudden decision. He snapped his 
fingers at a passing taxicab and in a second he 
and his queer little comrade were safely hidden 
in its depths. 

“ Now,” breathed the captain, pushing back 
his cap and mopping his forehead, “ let’s see. 
You need ” 

He glanced down at her comically. 

“ Everything,” Jeanne said quickly, “ from 
my feet up and my skin out.” 

‘‘ Well — ah,” the captain coughed a bit 
nervously. Shopping expeditions with small, 
young ladies were not his specialty. “ Sup- 
pose we begin at the feet,” he ended hastily. 


A New Predicament 121 

“ Stop at a shoe store,” he ordered the 
driver. 

“ Yes, sir. Which one? ” 

“ The first one in Brooklyn,” the captain an- 
swered hastily in his snappiest voice. He 
sensed a laugh behind the polite tones of the 
driver. 

They stojiped before a shoe store and the 
captain descended, presenting his hand to 
Jeanne in his courtliest manner. He was de- 
termined none should laugh at the si)ectacle 
they presented, and so immense w^as his dig- 
nity that no one did — to his face. No one, that 
is, except Jeanne. She giggled frankly and 
glancing up while they were waiting for the 
clerk to bring some shoes, she said: 

''Monsieur le Capitaine on land is a very 
different Monsieur le Capitaine than on sea.” 

“ I am my mother’s son,” he replied. ‘‘ I’m 
always reminded of it when I set foot on soil.” 

“ What can that mean? ” Jeanne asked, puz- 
zled. “ Of course you are your mother’s son.” 

“ You’ll see what I mean when you meet 
her,” he replied. “ She is a great lady. That 
is why I want you to look your best. How do 
those shoes feel? Comfortable? ” 


122 


’Jeanne 

Jeanne regarded the square-toed, low- 
heeled black ties that were on her feet. Then 
she stood up. 

“ But yes. They are the most comfortable 
I have yet had for months. But so different 
from the French shoes. You do not have 
higher heels? ’’ 

“ Oh, no,” the clerk replied, “ this is the only 
model.” 

“ They look very nice, I think,” the captain 
offered. “ But don’t get them unless you want 
them.” 

Jeanne was fearful lest she had seemed un- 
grateful, so in a rush of words she accepted 
them and thanked him. As they left the store 
it came across her in a flash that she had been 
in a men’s shop and of course there would be no 
high heels there. She checked her gasp of dis- 
may. It was too late to change and she would 
not hurt the dear captain’s feelings for any- 
thing. Besides what did it matter? 

“ Jove! ” the captain paused with his hand 
on the door. “We could get socks there, too. 
I see them in the window. Wait here, and I’ll 
go back and get them. He’ll know your size.” 

“Some blue ones and some pink ones!” 


A New Predicament 123 

J eaniie cried after him, and then settled back 
in the seat of the car. Socks would feel good 
again. This would probably be the last year 
she could wear them. Mama had said so, but 
she was still small, and they were so cool in 
summer. 

“Here!” the captain thrust a packet in 
her lap and climbed in. “ Open ’em up and 
put on a pair.” 

Jeanne chose the green and white ones that 
met her eye. They were veiy different, too, 
from the French ones she had worn as a girl, 
but still they fitted and they were clean and 
whole. 

“ Suits ! ” the captain thundered to the 
driver who was still waiting his next order. 

“ Oh, tell him a ladies’ store,” Jeanne cried 
quickly, as she pulled her ties on again and 
rolled up her trousers to get the desired 
effect. 

“ Ladies’ suits ! ” the captain corrected and 
off they went, in and out of small, narrow 
streets until they reached a store where suits, 
unmistakably ladies, were displayed in the 
window. 

Jeanne, in the meantime, had been doing 


1 24 yeanne 

some thinking and determined to take the lead 
of the expedition in her hands. The captain 
was very good and very kind but he didn’t 
know all he should about girls’ clothes. It was 
in genuine relief that the captain saw Jeanne 
march straight up to the beaming, suave man 
who came forward to meet them. 

“ I’m not a boy,” Jeanne said. “ I’m a girl, 
and I want a girl’s suit — a blue one with blue 
buttons and pockets.” 

“ Certainly. Come right this way. You are 
quite small but we will do the best we can for 
you.” 

He turned her over to a woman who took a 
voluble and motherly interest in the little refu- 
gee and who honestly did her best to fit Jeanne. 
But in the end the smallest suit they had was 
a big black and white checked affair that 
Jeanne detested. She felt more conspicuous 
than in her overalls, but she knew they could 
do no better here and the captain’s patience 
was evidently exhausted. Biting back her 
tears, Jeanne left the store, clad now in a long, 
loud-checked suit below which her boyish ties 
and gi’een and white socks appeared ridicu- 
lously. Jeanne knew now she should have 



“ You May Stay Here/’ 


She Said 









t 


p 


\ 




f r 


$ 



I 



1 


A New Predicament 125 

stockings — and black ones — but she would not 
let herself care. 

“If I don’t bend over, no one will know 
they are socks,” she reasoned, “ because my 
skirt is long. Oh, Capitaine/" she called, “ see! 
Next to this store is a place of hats. Could we 
not get one? ” 

The captain, who was immensely pleased 
with the improved appearance of his protegee, 
led the way into the store with a pride and dig- 
nity that was this time very real. He was 
totally unconscious of the glances that cut 
Jeanne to the quick, and was greatly surprised 
to see her decide upon the first hat that was put 
on her head. Jeanne, however, was mortified 
beyond words, for her quick eyes kept making 
comparisons and she longed to hide herself in 
the taxicab again. 

“ This will do,” she said, scarcely glancing 
at herself. Fortunately it really did do very 
well. It was a plain black sailor hat that set 
off her pale gold curls and toned down her 
suit. She wore it out of the store and hastily 
climbed into the waiting taxi, leaving the as- 
tonished captain to pay for the most expensive 
hat in the store. 


126 


Jeanne 

“Fifteen dollars!” he ejaculated, “and 
nothing on it but ribbon! That’s what her suit 
cost! ” 

“ I guessed so,” the woman replied with bit- 
ing sarcasm. “ Her hat is real Panama straw. 
Very hard to get. Thank you.” 

In the taxi the two warm shoppers mutually 
agreed to put off buying the vague “ other 
things,” — the captain because the hat had 
nearly emptied his pocketbook, the girl because 
she wanted to face no more covertly smiling 
women. 

“ I don’t need them, anyway. That is, if I 
am permit to wash these that I wear? ” 

There was a nod from the captain and then 
a long silence during which Jeanne recovered 
her equanimity. 

“ What does it matter about clothes, after 
all? ” she reasoned, “ except to have them cover 
you and be clean. But I am glad, for all that, 

that I kept my old blouse and overalls ” 

she patted a bundle in her lap lovingly. “ I 
feel better in them and if people keep staring 
I shall climb into them again. They stare 
at me in those, too, but it is a different 
stare.” 


A New Predicament 127 

“ My mother is an aristocratic autocrat,” the 
captain said, suddenly. 

“ An ? ” Jeanne could not pronounce 

it. “What is that?” 

“ A lady whose habits are as fixed as the 
course of the sun, moon and stars ; a lady whose 
wish is a command; a lady who cannot under- 
stand poverty, laws or contradiction.” 

Jeanne waited for more. It came, after a 
big sigh. 

“ My mother never forgave me for joining 
the Navy. She never remembers I am grown 
up. I am terribly polite always. You must 
not laugh as you did this afternoon.” 

Jeanne was somewhat impressed, a little 
fearful and altogether curious, but a new 
thought suddenly prevented further question- 
ing. 

“ Oh! Wait! ” she cried. “ I have another 
errand. A most important one. Can we not 
go to here? ” 

She fumbled about for the address given her 
by the gray-haired stranger in the delicatessen 
shop and at last found it in the pocket of her 
blouse. 

“ I so nearly forgot. And I promised to do 


128 


yeanne 

it. It’s for his old mother.” Jeanne told the 
little episode in all the full details and instantly 
the captain was the captain she knew at sea — 
alert, commanding, suspicious, gruff. He 
listened in silence, but gave an order to the 
driver and after a few moments they drew up 
before a small music store. 

Jeanne gave her order while the captain 
stood idly by the door apparently intent on 
the people passing in the street. He was, 
however, keenly conscious of the sudden 
look that was darted at his broad back and 
of the swift interrogative gaze that swept 
Jeanne. 

“ Thank you so much,” the storekeeper was 
more than polite. “ Herr — Mr. Smith is my 
particular friend. I will attend to the order 
at once so the poor mother may have her birth- 
day present.” 

Jeanne, not in the least understanding his 
sly wink, smiled brightly at him; thanked him 
and followed the captain from the store. 

Into the good man’s mind had come a per- 
turbing thought. Jeanne — doing business 
with unmistakable Germans. Could he possi- 
bly have been fooled by an ingenuous little girl 


A New Predicament 129 

and have admitted a German spy into the 
country? Into his home? Into his heart? 

He brushed the thought from him. Surely 
it was the other way. Jeanne was the uncon- 
scious tool of these scheming men. But in his 
doubt and perplexity the captain decided to 
say nothing for the present and they proceeded 
in silence to the home of the “ aristocratic auto- 
crat.” 


CHAPTER Xn 


“ THE ARISTOCllATIC AUTOCRAT 

Jeanne followed the captain up a flight of 
stone steps, through a hall door opened by a 
bowing, grinning, fat negress, up a dark stair- 
way to a door on the floor above. 

The captain knocked. He was breathing 
hard and Jeanne’s heart began hammering in 
sympathy. 

“Come!” called an imperious voice, and 
Jeanne, following the captain, stood just inside 
the door. 

She saw a beautiful room, furnished in ex- 
quisite old-fashioned mahogany that was pol- 
ished to a wonderful lustre. By a window sat 
the captain’s mother, half turned from 
Jeanne’s wide stare. She was erect in a 
straight back chair and Jeanne instantly gave 
homage to the beauty that still shone in that 
sedate old figure. 

Her hair, snow-white under a dainty laven- 
der ribboned lace cap, was fluffed prettily over 
her ears. Her eyes still sparkled with bright- 
130 


^^The Aristocratic Autocrat'"'* 131 

ness; her cheeks still held a faint tint of rose. 
Her gown was of lavender silk with a quaint 
white kerchief high about her neck that was 
half concealed by a wide lace shawl. One little 
foot rested on an ottoman, one small wrinkled 
hand tapped impatiently at the arm of her 
chair. Beside her stood a table covered with 
flowers, glasses of medicine and water, a news- 
paper and a Bible. 

Jeanne saw all this before the captain could 
reach the proud old lady who lifted a cool 
cheek in an aloof disdain for his kiss. 

“ Well, Mother. How are you? ’’ 

“ As well as can be expected. Are you not 
late in appearing here? I saw by the paper 
that your ship came in this morning. What 
has detained you? ’’ 

Her question was a demand for an explana- 
tion and Jeanne understood why the captain, 
had said, — “ She never remembers I am gi’owii 
up.’’ He started to make a blundering reply, 
including an introduction of Jeanne when her 
glance suddenly fell on the startling little fig- 
ure in the doorway. 

Up and down travelled the gaze of the 
haughty lady missing not a detail of the girl’s 


132 yeanne 

appearance. Jeanne felt holes bored through 
her long skirt where her socks ended and she 
shrivelled and grew cold. But as Mrs. Went- 
worth spoke to her son in a cool contemptuous 
tone, Jeanne suddenly flared into hot anger 
and instantly she and the old lady were sworn 
enemies. 

“ What is this that you have brought into 
my house, sir? ” 

“ Now, Mother dear ” he began but she 

interrupted. 

“ Take her away. She hurts my eyes.” 

With tears scalding her cheeks Jeanne was 
led out by the angered and helpless captain. 
He left her in a wee room at the end of the 
hall, evidently a sewing-room, for the machine 
was open and the small bed was cluttered with 
scraps and clippings. 

Jeanne threw herself down and buried her 
face. Tears came, — of anger, hate, homesick- 
ness, loneliness and despair. She was alone for 
over an hour and when at last the captain came 
back he found Jeanne white but calm. He 
himself was also white and calm but there was 
an air of victory about him that reassured the 
little girl. 


Aristocratic Autocrat" 133 

“ Come with me.” 

He led her back to Mrs. Wentworth’s room 
and up to the regal lady. Jeanne regarded 
her, trying to hide all expression of her feel- 
ings, but her face was too mobile and the wide 
eyes betrayed the hurt that had gone deep 
while her trembling lips could not hide her 
pride and sensitiveness. 

“ You may stay here,” the captain’s mother 
said graciously, in tones that were not unkind, 
“ until Mrs. Stafford can be found. Make 
yourself useful and don’t ever come in here 
unless I call you.” 

So Jeanne came to her first home in America 
and settled down in the wee sewing-room for 
an indefinite period. For it had been ascer- 
tained that Mrs. Stafford had left her home 
for an extended stay of several weeks. She 
had left no forwarding address and the cable 
from mid-ocean announcing her new daugh- 
ter’s arrival, as well as the telegram sent from 
the dock, were held awaiting her return. It 
was useless to telephone or write, after having 
once given her Jeanne’s address in Brooklyn; 
so Jeanne with the old philosophy that her ex- 
perience had given her took her life day by 


134 yeanne 

day as it came and did her best to make her- 
self happy in a place she disliked with a woman 
she hated. 

For the hate born at the moment of meeting 
had increased rather than decreased. She de- 
spised the way the old lady treated the good 
captain, — “ like an old shoe,’^ she used to say 
fiercely. “ He is comfortable and won’t pinch 
so she wears him.” 

If she had not been so angered she would 
have laughed at the poor captain’s misery in 
his home. His commanding air had crumpled. 
He tiptoed and whispered at Mrs. Went- 
worth’s nap time. 

He was punctiliously polite almost to ser- 
vility. Jeanne hated the formality of the 
“ good-morning ” and “ good-night ” cere- 
mony when “ son ” must kiss “ mother ” and 
report his day’s doings and Jeanne must like- 
wise report though she was spared the kiss. 

The captain’s leave of absence lasted only 
a few days. In that time Jeanne had gone 
out with him daily until she had learned her 
way about a bit. She now knew how to get 
to the grocery store for IMrs. Wentworth’s or- 
anges; the drug store for her medicines; the 


^^The Aristocratic Autocrat" 135 

newspaper stand for her newspaper. On one 
of these errands she stumbled across the little 
music shop where she had ordered the rec- 
ords. 

The German stood at the window and rec- 
ognized her. He smiled and beckoned to her 
to come in. 

J eanne was lonely and responded with 
alacrity. The captain had said he would not 
be back until late so she entered the little shop 
and talked with the man for quite a while. 
He asked her many questions, — her name, the 
boat she had come on, the captain’s name, 
where she lived now, — and countless others. 
Incidentally he learned that she was not in 
sympathy with the Germans as he had at first 
believed. But strangely enough he did not 
learn that she was a French refugee. Jeanne 
refrained from telling of her life before meet- 
ing the gray-haired stranger in the meat-shop, 
partly because the recalling of these memories 
upset her physically and partly because of her 
natural reticence before this man who was of 
German blood. 

“ Still he is an American now,” Jeanne rea- 
soned when she was on the street again. “ I 


136 yeanne 

should not dislike him now. He has left 
wicked Germany. He must love America as 
I do because he lives here. Oh, hello! ” 

She ran to catch up with the captain whom 
she spied just ahead of her and chattered gaily 
of her visit with Mr. Bachrach. The captain’s 
brows knit as he listened, for the new doubt of 
Jeanne pricked through him, but again he said 
nothing. 

“ I leave to-morrow,” he announced sud- 
denly. 

Such dismay flamed on the face of the little 
girl beside him that the captain was stirred to 
contrition. She was such a mite — and so ter- 
ribly alone. He patted her hand, speaking 
cheerfully. 

“ Come now! That’s no sort of face to send 
me off with! After all, you are safe here, and 
Mrs. Stafford will surely look you up the mo- 
ment she returns ! ” 

Jeanne made a brave effort but the tears 
would fill her eyes. She stared straight ahead 
of her, teeth set and head erect. Safe — yes. 
But she was not going to be happy. How she 
could endure living with this aristocratic old 
mother of the captain’s — so different a gTand- 


*^The Aristocratic Autocrat" 137 

mother from the one she remembered — she did 
not know. Oh, well ! It would not be for long. 
Surely the new Mama would return — why, 
perhaps in a week! She flung her head still 
higher and the glittering drops were shaken 
down her cheeks. The captain saw them and 
was seized with a sudden brilliant idea. 

“ I have it! The very thing! We will go 
on a party — ^you and I. We will do the town! 
Paint it red! Think of it! You have never 
seen New York in its gay evening dress. How 
stupid I have been! Come, Jeanne, how about 
it?’’ 

Jeanne flashed a grateful smile at the burly 
man beside her with his tender woman-heart. 
How good he was! And how understanding. • 
It would take bravery to refuse old Madame 
her last evening with her son but he would face 
the music all for her. The least she could do 
in return was not to let him guess her real 
anxiety concerning her future; her first ter- 
rible doubts of the good fortune that seemed 
so assured; her dread of the close companion- 
ship of his mother. No, at least she could smile 
and pretend a courage of sorts. 

So she became very gay and many projects 


138 yeanne 

were examined, discussed and discarded. New 
York was so big and wonderful, and offered 
so much to be seen! But at last Jeanne de- 
cided on a hotel for dinner where she could 
hear music and watch people dance, after that 
— the theatre. 

While the captain was making his explana- 
tion and apology to Mrs. Wentworth, Jeanne 
was busy in her wee room. She must some- 
how improve her odd appearance. She could 
not embarrass and disgrace the captain as she 
had that first day in America — the day of their 
shopping expedition. 

Frowning, she surveyed herself in the glass. 
Her head was all right. Bobbed hair and a 
neat sailor hat. Her suit wouldn’t be bad if — 
she twitched at it, twisting and turning before 
the mirror, and finally, by shortening her skirt 
she decided she would look better. Of course 
that showed her bare legs but one pair of socks, 
fortunately, was long. By dint of stretching 
she could make them reach almost to her knees, 
though they would only roll over once. Never 
mind. It was better. She would hurry and 
hem up the skirt 

“ Yes, I am ready! ” 


^^The Aristocratic Autocrat" 139 

Scarlet-cheeked, and happy-eyed she stood 
at last before the captain. He stared at her, 
puzzled. 

“ What have you been doing to yourself? ” 
he asked. 

“ Do you like it? ” 

“ Yes, but what ? ” 

“ Magic! ” she cried. “ If you like it better 
never mind what or how. Oh, I can go now 
with a feather-heart.” 

So these two adventurers went gaily forth 
into the bewildering night of New York, the 
night that was not night because of its daz- 
zling lights. And Jeanne was entranced. It 
was wonderful to her, a land of brightness and 
beaut}" ; of wealth and happiness. The glitter 
and glamor of it caught her and held her al- 
most dumb. It had been so long, oh so fright- 
fully long, since she had seen people playing 
like this. Was there a war after all? It was 
hard to remember. And for this one night 
Jeanne did not want to remember. 

She followed the captain into the great hotel 
and up the steps to the big entrance hall like 
one in a dream. For a long time they sat in 
the wicker chairs, close by the palms and the 


140 


yeanne 

canaries and the Hawaiian orchestra, watching 
the people come and go. It w^as fascinating to 
Jeanne, but at last she turned to her com- 
panion. 

“ Now we will go eat. I have watched for 
so long that I begin to see ugliness under the 
beauty in faces. They are not all happy, for 
all their lovely looks.” 

So they passed into the huge gold and white 
dining-room, where soft music, out of sight 
somewhere, stirred Jeanne’s pulses. When 
the captain handed her the menu she gave it 
back to him quickly. 

“ It doesn’t matter,” she said with a smile. 
“ Anything.” And while he ordered the 
dinner she turned her eyes on the dancers 
again. 

“ I could do that,” she murmured half to 
herself. 

“ Would you like to try it? ” The captain 
was half serious, half earnest, his gray eyes 
under his bushy brows twinkling while his face 
was sober. 

‘‘ You? — oh! do you — can you ? ” 

Jeanne was in confusion. She had not 
known he danced. But still, why not? There 


^^"The Aristocratic Autocrat" 141 

were others, fatter and much older, out there 
doing it. While she hesitated, he leaned for- 
ward. 

“I dare you!” 

In an instant Jeanne was on her feet, thread- 
ing her way among the tables to the bare space 
in the centre where she and the captain — a 
strange-looking couple — took their place in the 
circling crowd. 

Jeanne was as light as air and adapted her- 
self instantly to the captain’s measure and to 
her astonishment she found him gliding 
smoothly, in perfect time, and apparently very 
much at home in the new steps that had looked 
so intricate at first. 

It was amazing! But Jeanne, loving the 
dance as a poet loves words, wasted no time 
wondering. Whenever the music struck a par- 
ticularly captivating tune and the captain’s 
gi-izzled eyebrows went up, she dropped her 
knife and fork and rose like a flash. 

They were always watched by puzzling 
strangers who must have finally decided they 
were grandfather and granddaughter. But 
this time Jeanne, serene in the consciousness of 
her more conventional appearance, forgot all 


142 yeanne 

about onlookers, and was beautifully unaware 
of the glances that fell on her. 

“ Oh! It has all been beautiful. Captain! 
she cried when at last the dinner was over. 
“And you — you dance like a duck! ” 

“Like a duck! Well, I must say that’s 
rather a doubtful compliment! ” 

“It was not meant so!” Jeanne cried 
quickly. “ It was meant to be most utterly 
the best! ” 

“ There, now, that’s better. Now you’re 
talking.” The captain, mollified, pulled out 
his watch. “Mercy, little lady! We’ll be 
late to the theatre if we don’t hurry.” 

The bill was paid at last and they were out 
in the street again, Jeanne, clinging to the cap- 
tain’s arm, and with the music still ringing in 
her ears, dancing along by his side. 

To-night she was happy! To-morrow she 
might die of lonesomeness, but she wouldn’t, 
for she would always have the memory of to- 
night and — she glanced up suddenly at the 
captain’s face. 

“ You are glad to be here — with me? Not 
— at home? ” she asked. 

“ You bet I am,” he replied so heartily that 


^T^he Aristocratic Autocrat" 143 

Jeanne’s last compunction for the aristocratic 
autocrat vanished. 

The captain had, of course, chosen a musical 
comedy for the treat. One of those light- 
hearted rollicking frolics which brings laughter 
from a delighted audience almost every mo- 
ment. Jeanne’s high sweet laughter made 
many a head turn in her direction. 

“ It’s just a giggling thing,” she said after 
the first act. “ But it does make you feel 
rested in your heart. Americans do know how 
to laugh, I think, and have the good time. Oh, 
may we not go out and walk up and down be- 
hind us as others are doing? I can then see 
the people better.” 

So they joined the crowd of strollers for the 
fifteen minutes before the curtain went up 
again. Then back to their seats and the dark- 
ness. At the end of the second act they went 
out again. The captain excused himself to go 
buy Jeanne a box of candy and when he re- 
turned he could not find her. She had prom- 
ised to stand by the post near the aisle and in 
some concern he stood waiting for a few mo- 
ments, his kind eyes suddenly keen and search- 
ing the moving throng. 


144 yeanne 

Ah! There she was! coming toward him 
now. And with her — who should it be but the 
Kelly boy? 

“Isn’t it the luck?” Jeanne cried gaily. 
“ Here I was all alone and thinking you had 
gone off to eat of the candy yourself! When 
I heard Monsieur Kelly’s voice. Never have 
I been so glad. Oh, Captain dear, might we 
not somehow all be together? ” 

Somehow they might. The good captain 
with a little manoeuvering managed to per- 
suade one of the ushers that three empty seats 
nearer the front than their own were meant 
for them, and Jeanne’s happiness was com- 
plete. 

As they stood saying good-night to Tom 
Kelly in the lobby someone seized the captain’s 
arm. Kelly vanished, after a last hand-shake 
with Jeanne, and she turned to meet an anti- 
quated couple, friends of the captain. Jeanne 
acknowledged the introductions in her charm- 
ing way and then turned to watch the people 
streaming by her. The other three were talk- 
ing eagerly, with a rush of questions as long- 
parted friends do, and Jeanne, listening inter- 
mittently, with a mind confused from the 


Aristocratic Autocrat'"'" 145 

hurry and bewilderment of the evening, 
thought what a breathy voice the woman had. 
Her words seemed to come in chunks as 
though blown up from some deep region within 
her tremendous body. The voice and the enor- 
mous bulk of the woman beside her rather 
shrinking husband were the only distinct im- 
pressions Jeanne carried away with her. She 
wouldn’t know them again, either of them, she 
thought with a little stab of compunction, if 
she should meet them in the street at a later 
date. But it couldn’t be helped. Her mind 
had registered so much that wonderful evening 
and what did it matter, anyway? She would 
probabl}^ never see them again. But Jeanne 
could not guess what life had in store for her, 
and what terror that breathy voice would strike 
to her heart a little later. 


CHAPTER XIII 


JEANNE GOES TO WORK 

Jeanne strove to be patient but she found 
her life with the imperious old lady more diffi- 
cult than her life in the rest camp or on ship- 
board. 

That Mrs. Wentworth merely endured her 
presence was evident. And that she consid- 
ered her low-born and uneducated was also evi- 
dent, for Jeanne was ordered about very much 
as was the fat old negress. The little girl re- 
sented the sharp commands and quick com- 
plaints but she had by this time learned to con- 
trol her tongue and conscious that she was in- 
debted for a home and food, tried the harder to 
please the thoroughly spoiled and pampered 
old lady. 

The inevitable result was that Jeanne, deft 
and polite, clean and quick, soon suited Mrs. 
Wentworth better than her heavy-footed col- 
ored servant, and Jeanne, too late, saw her mis- 
take. It was now she who must prepare 
146 


yeanne Goes to Work 147 

dainty trays for the fickle appetite of the auto- 
crat ; she who could best make cocoa and comb 
hair, and she found herself nothing more nor 
less than a handmaiden. 

She had little freedom, only the two hours 
when Mrs. Wentworth took her daily nap; but 
these Jeanne made the most of. She always 
went out, and almost always to the music shop 
where Mr. Bachrach was invariably friendly 
and pleased to see her. He often let her wait 
on the people who came to the store, and as 
they were all friendly and interested in her, she 
quite enjoyed it. Sometimes she was given 
letters to mail as she left, and the importance 
of this mission was usually greatly stressed. 

So the days went by, days of monotony and 
little interest for Jeanne; of nagging criticism 
and patronage unbearable to the well-bred, 
high-strung little girl. This constant strain 
on her control and her temper told on her and 
there came at last, out of a clear sky, the inevi- 
table flash and crash of the storm that sent her 
flying from the only home she knew in 
America. 

She was writing a letter to Dr. J ack in her 
wee bedroom when she heard the tinkle of a 


148 yea fine 

bell. With a sigh she rose and went swiftly 
down the hall to Mrs. Wentworth’s room. 

“ Come in,” the old lady called in answer to 
Jeanne’s knock. 

She was sitting as usual in her chair by the 
window. As usual she was daintiness itself in 
lavender and lace, her fine old face mellowed 
in the warm morning sunlight. 

“ Good-morning, my dear,” she said gra- 
ciously. “ You slept well, I trust? ” 

“ Yes, thank you.” Jeanne privately thought 
this daily ceremony a ridiculous nuisance. But 
it was part of the gentlewoman’s breeding and 
a still greater part of her habit. 

“ And what time did you retire last even- 
ing? ” 

“About ten,” Jeanne replied. “ I was read- 
ing a wonderful book.” 

“ Oh, my dear, that is too late for a little girl 
of your years. It is not a good thing to get 
into the habit of such late hours. And habits, 
my dear, rule our lives. If you make good 
ones you will have a long useful life. I am 
firmly convinced it is my habit of minute daily 
caring for my health that keeps me as I am to- 
day. And you must admit,” she ended with 


yeanne Goes to Work 149 

pardonable pride, “ that I do not look or act 
eighty-nine.” 

“ Oh, no indeed,” Jeanne cried. ‘‘Not a 
bit.” 

In one way or another this daily compliment 
was pulled forth. 

“ Now I am ready for my breakfast,” Mrs. 
Wentworth dismissed Jeanne gracefully. “An 
orange; a little oatmeal and cream; my coffee 
— and not so strong as it was yesterday. It 
was positively bitter; my coddled egg, fried 
potatoes and toast. That will be all this morn- 
mg. 

“All! ” Jeanne thought as she busied herself 
down-stairs attending to the perfection of 
daintiness that was required. “All! I should 
hope so! She eats so much as a man! And 
every day and every meal.” 

She cut the orange in half, loosened it from 
its skin and sprinkled a little sugar on it. 

“ The sugar on this ! The sugar on oatmeal I 
The sugar in her coffee ! And the Avhole coun- 
try trying to save. It makes me to bubble! ” 

At last the meal was ready and with great 
care lest she spill a bit of cream or coffee over, 
Jeanne ascended the stairs again. This was a 


1 50 ’Jeanne 

daily ordeal, but all went well until she reached 
Mrs. Wentworth’s side when she suddenly 
tripped on her shoe-lace. The next instant 
poor Jeanne fell fiat, the tray crashing down 
before her and the breakfast splashing plenti- 
fully over Mrs. Wentworth’s lavender dress 
and the floor. 

Jeanne sprang to her feet, her face fiery 
with mortification. 

“Oh! I am so sorry!” she began when 
suddenly 

Splash ! 

Mrs. Wentworth had picked up her glass of 
water from the stand by her side and had 
dashed it into Jeanne’s astonished face. She 
was dumb with surprise for a moment but the 
next words lashed her to a cold fury. 

“ You clumsy girl! ” Mrs. Wentworth cried. 
“ It’s the shoes, of course. Dreadful ones as I 
said. But in keeping with your dreadful 
suit. I suspected that your lack of taste indi- 
cated a lack of refinement but this proves you 
to be one of the bourgeois of France beyond a 
doubt. Leave the room ! Don’t come into my 
sight again to-day! Send Peace to me at 
once! ” 


"Jeanne Goes to Work 151 

Jeanne dared not trust herself to speak. 
Never could she remember being so angry. 
And at an old lady, too! It was terrible. It 
was wicked to hate so. But she could not help 
it. 

In a choking voice she called Peace, the old 
colored mammy, and then she dashed into her 
room, seized her despised checked coat and hat 
and ran down the stairs to the street. 

“ I’ll never go back,” she breathed. “ I’ll 
never go back. I’ll die first ! ” 

Over and over she said it, walking swiftly all 
the time. Gradually her anger died and com- 
mon sense returned. 

“ I’ll have to go back,” she concluded finally. 
“ But I won’t go near her. Nevaire will I 
wait on her again. She can’t put me out. She 
promised the captain she wouldn’t. And I 
don’t have to wait on her. I wouldn’t if she 
paid me ! ” 

Into her gTeat flashing eyes came suddenly 
the dart of a new idea. 

“ If I could work! And get paid! I’d save 
all the moneys until I had enough to get to my 
new Mama. In that city I would tell my 
story and people would keep me until Mama 


152 yeanne 

returns. I will work! ” she decided suddenly. 
“ I cannot fill my days with nothingness 
now that I am no longer to wait upon Ma- 
dame.” 

It was characteristic of Jeanne that she went 
from thought to deed. In a few moments she 
was at the door of the little music shop, her 
face so afire with emotion that it was not neces- 
sary for Mr. Bachrach to inquire if anything 
was the matter. 

Jeanne plunged into speech. 

“ Monsieur Bachrach. You know me for an 
honest girl. I desire employment. I will do 
anything. I will dust, sweep, wait on the so 
many peoples, write letters — anything. But 
work I must.” 

“ Veil, veil,” the German was all friendly 
concern. Bit by bit he drew out the story 
from the excited little girl, learning at last all 
about her orphanage and nodding his head in 
solemn sympathy as she talked. 

“ So,” he cried when she had done, “ you 
vish to vork in mine shop. Gute. There is 
nuddings much you can do. But vat there is 
you shall do.” 

“And you will pay me? ” Jeanne cried. 


yeanne Goes to Work 153 

“A leetle,” he replied. “A leetle money for 
a leetle vork for a leetle girl. And ven you 
are wort’ more you get more. You see? ” 

He was greatly pleased at this sudden devel- 
opment. With Jeanne, unmistakably French, 
much in evidence in his store, she would help 
allay the suspicion that he knew as a German 
he was arousing. Moreover, she was an inno- 
cent, trusting little piece of humanity and could 
be made a tool for many nefarious schemes, the 
import of which she would never grasp. 

In fact, as he set Jeanne to work rearrang- 
ing records, and indexing them in his books, 
his crafty brain was evolving a splendid idea. 
He _ would give it out casually that he had 
adopted Jeanne himself as his ‘‘bit” in the 
great world war. He chuckled to himself but 
Jeanne was too absorbed to notice, and when a 
stranger entered a few moments later and the 
heads of the two men were close together, 
Jeanne remained still unconscious of their nods 
and glances and grins. 

She stayed until noon, dashed home for 
lunch, and reappeared in less than the hour 
that was given her. She was tremendously 
excited and pleased over this scheme of hers 


154 ycanne 

and began to do some careful figuring to see 
how long it would take her to earn five dollars 
if she was getting seventy-five cents a week. 

“ I now go out/' Mr. Bachrach said. “ It is 
a great trust to leave you here alone in charge. 
Remember, no one gets the records that are 
numbered unless they show you a little slip 
like this.” He pulled one from his pocket and 
explained to Jeanne’s questioning eyes. “ It 
is because these numbered records are rare. 
They are made in Deutschland and are made 
no more now. I keep my few for some par- 
ticular friends — real music lovers. You see? ” 

Jeanne nodded solemnly, and, left alone, re- 
turned to her figuring. She never knew that 
Mr. Bachrach reached the rear door of his shop 
by a circuitous route and stood behind a cur- 
tain watching her all the afternoon as she dealt 
with unusual ability with the shoppers. 

If she could have seen the smile of satisfac- 
tion that slipped over his face when a plain 
clothes man vainly questioned her, she would 
have suspected something was wrong. Mr. 
Bachrach knew the detective and shook in si- 
lent glee behind the curtain as a look of puzzle- 
ment spread over the features of the secret 


’Jeanne Goes to Work 155 

service agent, for Jeanne was freely answering 
all his questions about herself, her family and 
her experiences, with such swift sincerity and 
apparent hatred of things German that it was 
impossible to suspect her of treachery. 

“ But you are working for a German now,” 
the man said at last. “ How can you, after all 
you have suffered, bear to be here? ” 

“ He is not a German — only his name,” 
Jeanne said. “ He has an American heart, 
and soul. This I know.” 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ Because he is good and because he himself 
declares it over and over.” 

The entrance of another man ended the in- 
terview and a few moments later Mr. Bachrach 
came in the shop door. 

“Veil? How do tings go? ” 

“ I have sold many records,” Jeanne said 
proudly. “See, six of these and three of the 
numbered ones. There was a gentleman who 
came in and talked much but he bought noth- 
ing. It might be that he was lonely.” 

“ So,” the German replied. “ Gute. Now, 
little Miss, dot iss all to-night. You vill come 
to-morrow again ? ” 


156 yeanne 

“ At nine/’ Jeanne promised, and as she 
went out she wondered why Mr. Bachrach 
talked with such an accent when they were 
alone in the shop and in such careful English 
when customers appeared. 


CHAPTER XIV 


JEANNE GOES TO JAIL 

For a few days Mrs. Wentworth let Jeanne 
severely alone. In that time she went punctu- 
ally to the little shop where she spent the hap- 
piest hours she had yet known in America, 
Everyone was kind to her and she was made 
much of by all those who were the particular 
friends of Mr. Bachrach. They brought her 
gifts of candy and flowers, and with flattery 
and cajolery they soon laid to rest her instinc- 
tive suspicion and dislike of their German 
blood. 

But about a week after Jeanne’s mishap 
with the tray, just as she was leaving to go out. 
Peace came hurrying down the stairs. 

“ Wait, Miss Jeanne,” she puffed. “ De 
missus hankers to see you. Praise de Lord de 
last cloud has vanished off her countynance 
and de sun am a-shinin’ in her soul once again. 
Dese has been powerful skeery days for me. 
Miss Jeanne,” she concluded when she reached 
167 


158 Jeanne 

the bottom of the stairs. “An’ ah’s walkin’ on 
sumpin’ ’sides egg-shells fo’ de fuss time since 
de rumpus. Lawsy! Ah don’ dare heave a 
real breff when de missus goes into one of her 
tempers. Trot along up now, li’l missy, and 
make yo’ peace.” 

But Jeanne, usually sweet and obliging, was 
firm as a rock. 

“ I must go out now. Peace,” she said. “ I 
am due already at the office.” She was proud 
of the independent American sound her words 
seemed to have. “ Tell Mrs. Wentworth I 
will see her at lunch time.” 

But at noon Mrs. Wentworth sent word by 
Peace that she had no desire to see her, now or 
ever. Jeanne’s sudden revolt had angered her 
and she was determined to have nothing to do 
with the child until the captain returned the 
following week. Then she would banish 
Jeanne from her home forever. 

The day before the captain was due, it 
poured. J eanne found she had to put all her 
small earnings into the purchase of an um- 
brella and rubbers, and the swift vanishing of 
the returns for three weeks of toil was a bitter 
pill. Business was slow that day and Jeanne 


"Jeanne Goes to Jail 159 

was tired, so she was glad when Mr. Bachrach 
sent her home at four. 

She went to the kitchen to leave her wet 
clothes and found Peace asleep in front of the 
fire, her head sunk low. Jeanne tiptoed out 
again and up to her small room and threw her- 
self on her bed. 

She must have fallen asleep for the sudden 
ringing of the door-bell woke her. As she lay 
there, she wondered who it could be. People 
seldom came to the house. No one in fact ex- 
cept the tradesmen and the doctor and it was 
not time for any of them. Wondering if it 
could be the captain, home early, she sprang 
from her bed, tidied her tumbled hair and 
went out in the hall to peer over the bannis- 
ters. 

Below her stood two men. Jeanne did not 
know them at all and in great wonder she lis- 
tened to Peace endeavoring to explain. 

“ But dey ain’ no German spy in dis yere 
house, yer honors,” faithful old Peace expos- 
tulated. “ Youse in de right church but in de 
wrong pew. Dey ain’ nobody here cepin’ Miss 
Jeanne and ole Missus.” 

“ It’s them we want,” interrupted one of the 


i6o yeanne 

men curtly. Out of the way, old woman. 
Ai'e they up-stairs? ” 

Before Jeanne could grasp what had hap- 
pened the two Federal detectives strode up- 
stairs and caught her clinging to the bannisters 
wide-eyed. 

“ Here you are! ’’ one of them said laying a 
hand on Jeanne’s shoulder. “ Now take me to 
the old lady. We won’t hurt you if you come 
quietly. You’re both under arrest.” He 
pulled out a paper and waved it before 
Jeanne’s uncomprehending eyes. 

The swift scene that followed was a blur to 
Jeanne. Mrs. Wentworth stood suddenly in 
her doorway proudly erect and indignantly de- 
manding an explanation. The detectives lost 
their gruff manner and were instantly defer- 
ential and ill at ease, exhibiting their warrants, 
but firmly insisting that Mrs. Wentworth, 
harboring under her roof Jeanne, who was in 
the employ of German spies, was under sus- 
picion and must be taken to jail until someone 
should bail her out. 

“ This is an outrage! ” the old lady cried in 
righteous wrath. “ This is an insult such as 
I never dreamed to live to experience ! My son 


yeanne Goes to Jail i6i 

is in the employ of the Government, a captain 
on an American merchant ship. I myself am 
as true a patriot as was ever born. This 

girl ” she glanced disdainfully at Jeamie. 

“ I know nothing about her. She may be all 
you say. I shall be delighted to have you take 
her to jail and keep her there out of my sight. 
It is she who is responsible for this disgrace 
that has come to me in my old age.” 

Mrs. Wentworth, quivering, was assisted to 
her chair by mumbling, frightened old Peace. 
After smelling salts and water had been ad- 
ministered freely, Mrs. Wentworth raised her 
haughty head. 

“ Are you not yet gone? ” she demanded. 
“ Leave my room all of you! ” 

One of the detectives stepped forward. 

“ Certainly, madam. In a moment. But we 
must have a little information and you are the 
only one to give it. You say your son is in 
the U. S. Navy? ” 

“ He is.” 

“ And he brought this girl to the house? ” 

The old lady was quick to see the trend of 
the question. 

“ He did, but he supposed her to be the 


i 62 


yeanm 

French refugee she posed as being. He knew 
nothing of her German connections.” 

Jeanne suddenly flared into speech. 

“ I have no German connections ! ” she cried, 
tears close to the surface. “ You know I have 
not. I am of French and American blood, as 
pure as yours. I hate the Germans. I only 
went to work with Mr. Bachrach because 
I ” 

‘‘You can tell your story to the District At- 
torney, girl, we haven’t time now. Madam,” 
the man turned once again to Mrs. Went- 
worth, “ I am sorry to distress you. I believe 
there has been a mistake and you are not to 
blame, but my orders were to bring you both 
before the District Attorney. If you will get 
your hat and coat ” 

“ Sir! ” Mrs. Wentworth pierced him with 
a glance. “I shall not stir one step!” she 
announced. “To jail! Me! At my age! 
Besides,” she ended with sudden flippancy, “ I 
never go out in the rain.” 

“ We will get a taxi ” the man began. 

“ You will get nothing! ” Mrs. Wentworth 
screamed. “ You will get nothing — ^but this! ” 
She picked up a book and hurled it at the head 


Jeanne Goes to yail 163 

of the government agent who ducked in un- 
dignified fashion. Jeanne nearly laughed. 

“ You will get nothing,” Mrs. Wentworth 
repeated, “ but yourselves and that girl out 
of my rooms ! ” 

And so strong was her will, so fierce her 
fighting spirit that in the end Jeanne went off 
with one detective while the other stayed on 
guard on the doorstep of Mrs. Wentworth’s 
house. 

Jeanne riding to jail! Jeanne under the 
watchful eye of an American detective! 
Jeanne led into the office of the Federal Dis- 
trict Attorney and made to answer question 
after question, but given no chance to tell her 
own story in her own way! Jeanne hearing 
that she would be held for examination before 
the Federal Grand Jury! Jeanne given over 
again into the hands of the detectives and taken 
to prison. Jeanne left at last in the care of the 
matron and locked in a room, small, bare of 
aught save a cot, dark except for a wee square 
of light admitted through a small window high 
up on the wall. 

Then Jeanne sat on her bed and laughed. 

“ It is funny,” she said. “ I came to 


164 yeanne 

America for freedom, for love and for a home 
and I get imprisonment, hate and a jail. 
Certainement I have excitement. Now what to 
do? There is nothing but sleep possible here, 
and I am vairy sleepy. Monsieur le Capitaine 
will be here after to-day and he will not leave 
me long in this so dreary place. No, not for 
ten madames ! ” 

She curled up on her bed, pulled the blan- 
kets up over her, — for the cell was damp — and 
slept soundly through the night, undisturbed 
by sound of mice or men. 

She was awakened by the sound of the ma- 
tron entering her room. She carried a tray of 
breakfast and after a few pleasant words left 
Jeanne to eat. Jeanne surveyed it with a crit- 
ical eye, but she was hungry, for she had been 
dinnerless. 

“ It makes me to think of the days in camp,” 
she murmured, munching the black bread and 
sipping the blacker colfee. “ It’s a good thing 
Madame is not here to eat this tray full. Most 
certainement it would be she who dropped the 
breakfast and the dishes this time! I wonder 
when le Capitaine will arrive? ” 

Her confidence in him was not misplaced. 


yeanne Goes to Jail 165 

for he arrived by noon. He had, for once, left 
his wrathy mother unmollified; had deserted 
her in the midst of a speech, — which unex- 
pected rudeness left her agape — ^and had made 
all haste to the prison. Once again Jeanne 
was blissfully ignorant of the amount of red 
tape she forced the captain to unwind; the in- 
terviews and explanations; the cross-examina- 
tions, the pledges given. She fancied he had 
simpl}’^ to enter and explain it was a mistake 
and straightway she would be released. 

But she discovered it was not so shnple a 
matter as that. Unaware of the proceedings 
he had been subjected to, she was amazed to 
find that, the door unlocked and herself cling- 
ing to the good captain’s arm, she could not 
simply walk out with him through the door 
she had come in. She had to go back once 
more before the District Attorney and face 
again her share of the cross-examinations; but 
as her sincerity was unquestionable, and her 
story dovetailed nicely with the captain’s, she 
was at last permitted to go out beside the re- 
lieved captain. 

“ It is my fault,” he said at last as they were 
in the street. “ I should have told you never 


i66 


yeanne 

to go in that store again. Why I did not I 
cannot say.” He would not tell her of his 
first suspicion of her. “ But all is well that 
ends well, Jeanne, and now we’ll go back and 
face the lioness in her den. You and I to- 
gether are strong enough. Eh? ” 

“ Oh, so strong as Daniel! I am sure! ” she 
cried gaily. “ Poor Madame. I have brought 
her nothing but trouble. Truly I am sorry, 
dear Capitaine, It would be better for me to 
go elsewhere. Mama Stafford is not home 
yet? ” 

The captain shook his head. Her continued 
silence and J eanne’s disappointment were a se- 
cret woriy to him. 

“ It is queer,” J eanne knit her brows. “ But 
she will come back, Capitaine, Of that I am 
sure. One could not doubt her letters. It is 
just to wait. Now tell me please, what was 
•it Monsieur Bachrach was doing that was 
wrong? Is it against the law to sell records? ” 
“ No,” he replied, “ but it seems that he was 
selling numbered records and each number was 
a message in code to Germans higher up of 
conditions here in America; of government 
plans. It is undoubtedly by such methods as 


Jeanne Goes to Jail 167 

this that the Germans learn dates of sailings 
of ships and are thus able to destroy them 
with their submarines. Probably plans for the 
blowing up of munition factories were trans- 
ferred in this or similar ways.” 

“ Oh! ” Jeanne’s face was aghast. “ And 
I sold three of the numbered records one day 
when Monsieur Bachrach left me alone! Oh! 
No wonder they arrested me! How terrible! 
How more than terrible ! ” 

It took the captain some little time to get 
her mind off her own unsuspected treachery. 


CHAPTER XV 


JEANNE RUNS AWAY 

“ Dear Doctor Jack: 

“ It has been a long time since I wrote 
you. I think you do not know of my venture 
into the world of business and its sad ending. 
The day I wrote you last it was raining, and 
as I sealed the letter, I went to take the tray 
of breakfast to Madame. 

Misfortune is mine. As I reached the 
proud lady’s chair, I tripped on the lace of 
those so ugly American boy’s shoes and went 
crashing to the ground. There followed a 
scene terrific. Madame hurled a glass of 
water in my face. I would rather face a 
German than her. So great was my anger that 
I decided to leave the house and go to work. 

“ This I did — in the shop of Monsieur Bach- 
rach of whom I have spoken. For many days 
I was happy. They were good to me. I was 
busy. I was here only to eat and sleep and 
never saw Madame. 

“ But alas! I was young and ignorant, and 
though I knew the men were of German blood, 
I believed them to be loyal to America at heart. 
They said so. To be short, detectives were 
168 


yeanne Runs Away 169 

watching us all the time, and one other terrible 
day two gendarmes entered the house of 
Madame, demanding to take both her and my- 
self to prison. 

“ Of course Madame would not go. I be- 
lieve it is enviable to have a violent temper. 
No one dares oppose it, and one always does 
as one likes! But I — Doctor Jack, — I, to my 
surprise and amusement, — was transported to 
an American prison! 

“ I could be amused because I knew le bon 
Capitaine returned on the morrow and would 
release me at once. It was so. By noon the 
next day I was out and here I am at the house 
of Madame again. 

“ However I soon go. 

“ Let me explain. 

“ Of course I could not return to work at 
the shop of Monsieur Bachrach because he 
himself is in jail, and I would not anyway. I 
knew of no other place of employment. So I 
was forced to spend my time in the greatly 
hated presence of Madame. 

“ She spoke to me as seldom as possible, but 
she made me to work. I must clean her room 
and wash and iron her kerchiefs and shawls, 
and again, to my dismay, I must bring up her 
trays. 

“ This I despised to do. Chiefly because she 
eats so much. It made me cross as two twigs 


170 yean 7 te 

to see her daily menu. For breakfast I have 
told you, always fruit, cereal, toast, coffee, 
potato, bacon and egg. For lunch, always 
soup, meat, potato, another vegetable, tea, 
bread and butter and dessert. For supper, al- 
ways meat again, potato, cocoa, jam, toast. 
You can see how much sugar it would take 
for one day! and bread! and butter! Meatless 
days and wheatless days and conservation of 
sugar caused her fierce anger. She would be 
denied nothing. 

“ ‘ I am sure,’ she would say calmly, ‘ Mr. 
Hoover would not mean to refuse an old lady 
like myself the delicacies to which she has been 
accustomed.’ 

“ It is a small thing. Doctor Jack, and per- 
haps she was right. Perhaps Monsieur 
Hoover would say, ‘ Eh bien, Madame, eat all 
you desire. It is the privilege of old age.’ But 
to me it did not seem so. The cause of the 
fighting soldier is to me most important. She 
who will not regard it first is unpatriotic. This 
I told her. Whereat she faced me with scorn. 

“ ‘ It hardly becomes one who is a German 
tool to speak of patriotism to an American 1 ’ 
she declared. 

“ I trembled. Then vdthout one word I 
left her. I write this to you now, for in a 
moment I will be on my way. I can no longer 
abide imder the roof with one who insults me 


yeanne Runs Away 171 

daily. I have packed my best clothes in a bun- 
dle which I shall carry and I am once again 
clothed in my darling overalls and blouse. I 
have written to le bon Capitaine my thanks 
and regrets and I am sure he will understand. 

“ I have a little money which the Captain 
gave me before leaving. With it I shall buy 
a ticket as far as I can go. Then I shall dis- 
mount from the train and walk to the home of 
my new Mama. Once in her town I feel sure 
some good neighbor will care for me. 

“ Adieu, dear Doctor Jack. Without such 
friends as you and the Capitaine and Monsieur 
Kelly, I should be disheartened. I hope this 
finds you well. May le bon Dieu keep you 
safe. 

“ Jeanne.” 

Jeanne sealed the letter, picked up her bun- 
dle from the bed and stole quietly down-stairs. 
In the lower hall she took a cap from the rack, 
stuffed her golden curls under it, pulling it low 
over her forehead, and then passed out of the 
door. 

In the street she drew a long breath. 

“How stupid of me!” she thought, 
“ nevaire to have done this before! ” 

Her plans were well laid. First she mailed 
her letter to Dr. Jack. Then she went straight 


172 yeanne 

to the policeman on the corner and asked him 
the question that troubled her. Although he 
had at times chatted with a little girl in a 
black and white checked suit and green socks, 
he did not recognize this ragged boy in over- 
alls, whose face and hands were carefully 
smutted again. Jeanne was determined not 
to leave a clue for anyone to follow, so she 
spoke in a low voice, in careful English and 
merely nodded her thanks. 

She boarded the trolley indicated and 
watched with great interest everything and 
everybody she passed on the short journey 
across the bridge. Once in New York she be- 
came confused, forgot her directions and had 
to appeal again to a policeman. He was gruff 
and curt, far too important a person to be 
bothered with street urchins, and Jeanne was 
in despair. Her wide brown eyes filled with 
tears and she turned away helplessly when a 
middle-aged woman saw her. 

“What’s the trouble, my boy?” she asked 
kindly, laying her hand on Jeanne’s shoulder. 

“ Oh, will you be so good as to find for me 
the subway? I desire to reach Grand Centra] 
Station.” 


Jeanne Runs Away 173 

“ I am going there myself,” the woman re- 
plied, “ and I’ll see that you don’t get 
lost.” 

Jeanne was immensely grateful. But her 
gratitude was not enough to cause her to sat- 
isfy her companion’s curiosity. To her many 
questions J eanne replied briefly and evasively, 
though politely. 

“ It is so easy to get into jail in America,” 
she thought cannily to herself. Even when 
one is doing one’s best. It may be against the 
law for me to wear the garments of a boy. I 
will run no risk and will confide in no one.” 

So it was that in the crowd of the Grand 
Central Station Jeanne easily eluded her help- 
er’s watchful eye, and lost herself in the 
throng. It took her a great deal of time to 
find the ticket window, but at last she stood 
on tiptoe before the barred opening. 

“ I wish to go as far up the Hudson River 
as I can with this,” she announced pushing the 
change under the astonished man’s nose. 

“ This will only take you to High Bridge,” 
he replied. “ How’s that? ” 

“ Very good,” Jeanne replied, instantly, 
having not the slightest idea how far High 


174 yeanne 

Bridge might be from her ultimate goal. 
“ Thank you.’’ 

Her journey was uneventful. Jeanne sat 
quietly in the corner next the window, her eyes 
open to all new sights, her ears alert to the 
conductor’s voice as he called out the stations. 
At last she had to “ dismount ” from the train, 
and once on the platform she was at a loss. 
She had made no plans beyond this point, but 
as curious eyes rested on her she suddenly de- 
cided to take to the road. 

It was warm and sunny and the country was 
beautiful. Jeanne sniffed in ecstasy as she 
trudged along the hard white road, traversed 
so swiftly by a multitude of cars. All the 
afternoon she walked and at sundown she 
asked an old man who was driving a cart slowly 
along the road the distance to Milton. 

“ Milton! ” he ejaculated, surprised. “ Say, 
sonny, you ain’t aimin’ to get there to-night, 
be ye? It’s forty miles or more.” 

Oh, no! ” Jeanne replied brightly. “ Not 
to-night. I have plenty of time.” 

He gave her a keen look, then he pulled his 
old horse to a halt. 

“ Tired, eh? Want a mite of a ride? ” 


yea fine Runs Away 175 

Old men were certainly to be trusted and 
this one had the same kindly look in faded blue 
eyes that the captain had. Jeanne, with a sigh 
of thanks, climbed in and sat down beside him. 

“ Oh, I am tired,” she murmured. 

“ Been cornin’ far? ” 

“ From High Bridge.” 

“ Lan’ sakes!” 

His look was so long that Jeanne grew un- 
comfortable, but she swung her feet in a non- 
chalant way and audaciously assumed a casual 
manner. 

“ My automobile broke down she be- 

gan and then caught a sight of her overalls. 
What would a slip of a ragamuffin like her- 
self be doing with an automobile? He 
wouldn’t believe it, anyway. She turned sud- 
denly and laughed at him. There was some- 
thing so spontaneous in her laughter that an 
answering gi’in spread over the old man’s face. 

“ And if your limousine breaks down and 
you have forgotten to bring your pocketbook 
with you, you have to walk, don’t you? ” she 
ended. 

The gi’in grew and in that exchange of 
smiles a friendship was formed. 


176 yeanne 

“All right, sonny. No questions asked. 
You seemed such a youngster though, and so 
tired, I was wonderin’ — that’s all.” 

Jeanne in turn was touched by his kindli- 
ness. She began to speak slowly, giving him as 
much of the truth as she dared. 

“ It’s simply this. My mother and father 
are dead. I’m all alone. I lived with a — 
friend — for awhile. But we — didn’t like each 
other. So I decided to go to another — friend 
— in Milton. And this is as far as I got.” 

“ Jingo,” he said aloud, and to himself, “ a 
plucky little kid.” 

They rode a mile or so in silence. Jeanne, 
sitting very straight and still, fought off a de- 
sire for sleep with all her strength. The gentle 
jolting of the cart, the silence of the road al- 
most deserted now in the twilight, the reas- 
surance that the old man’s presence gave her, 
were all conducive to slumber. Suddenly her 
head bumped against something. She woke 
with a start. Her friend had his arm about 
her. 

“ Just ketched you in time,” he said briefly. 

“ Oh! How stupid of me!” Jeanne cried. 
“ Thank you ” 


yeanne Runs Away 177 

“ Well, ’sail right. It just settled somethin’ 
that’s been turnin’ somersaults in my mind for 
a piece. You’re cornin’ in to our house for a 
bite o’ supper, and then I shouldn’t wonder if 
we’d just tuck you into John’s bed. Our John, 
that used to be just such a skinny little shaver 
as you.” 

Jeanne was too utterly weary to dispute 
him. And after all, why shouldn’t luck be with 
her for awhile? Surely she might in all safety, 
without the slightest fear of discovery, accept 
a night’s lodging on a farm way off in the 
country. Meeting with such goodness was an 
auspicious beginning to her venture and 
seemed to promise its success. 

So she drove into the farmyard with the old 
man, watched him silently while he unhitched 
the horse and stabled him ; helped him push the 
cart back under the shed and followed him a 
little eagerly, a little timorously into the house. 

But her first glance drove away any misgiv- 
ings she might have had. Mrs. Applegate was 
a bird of a woman, with bright black eyes and 
little swooping movements that ended in a flut- 
ter. She swooped now, upon Jeanne, before 
the old man’s slow explanation was half out, 


178 yeanne 

and her motherly hands drew the child to the 
well-filled table set with its red cloth in the 
kitchen. Jeanne was given no opportunity to 
talk, for the little old lady’s conversation 
flowed as easily as a brook and while she im- 
parted the news of the day to her husband, 
Jeanne ate like a starved person. When she 
had finished she propped her head on her 
hands, her eyes on the glowing lamp in the 
middle of the table, waiting for a chance to 
express her gratitude. 

“Now don’t say a word — not a word. 
You’re plumb tuckered out. Don’t I know? 
Lan’, chile, you don’t never need to apologize 
for eatin’ at my house. Couldn’t tickle me 
more. If there’s one thing I likes to see, it’s 
folks enjoyin’ the victuals I spend my days 
a-fixin’. Now come right along o’ me. Here’s 
a candle. Watch your step — ^it’s a mite cold 
up here — but ” 

Jeanne wondered how she did it. Words 
didn’t seem to come from her head first at all. 
They were simply all bunched in her mouth, 
tumbling over each other in their effort to be 
the first out. 

She followed Mrs. Applegate up a narrow 


yeanne Runs Away 179 

dark stair to a room over the kitchen. In the 
candlelight its sloping white walls and neat 
bed looked very clean and inviting. The old 
lady swooped upon the bed and with a flutter- 
ing of her hands opened it for Jeanne. Then 
from a tiny closet under the eaves she pro- 
duced a pair of pajamas. 

‘‘Oh, how good you are!” Jeanne mur- 
mured. 

“ An’ they’s water in the water pitcher. 
Now good-night, child.” She stooped sud- 
denly and kissed Jeanne’s cheek. “ I know 
you don’t like it bein’ a boy. But bein’ a 
mother and havin’ had a boy — I couldn’t help 
it. Now good-night. Sleep tight.” 

It didn’t take Jeanne long to slip off her 
clothes, and climb into the warm woolen pa- 
jamas that had at some distant day belonged 
to another John. For a few moments Jeanne 
lay watching the long shadows made by the 
flickering candlelight leap on the walls. Then 
she blew it out, and with her eyes on the star- 
lit heavens, outside her wee window, she 
breathed a little prayer of thanks. 

The sun was high in the heavens when she 
woke the next morning. For a second she lay 


i8o yeanne 

there puzzled by her surroundings. Then it 
all came back to her and she lay for awhile 
longer thinking back over the last twenty-four 
hours. She was lucky. And how darling the 
whitewashed room looked in the warm morn- 
ing sunlight. Jeanne tucked a hand under her 
cheek and rested drowsily. 

A door slamming below her and quick foot- 
steps moving about, startled her broad awake. 
In a second she was up and dressing with rapid 
movements. 

When she appeared in the kitchen a few mo- 
ments later Mrs. Applegate whirled from a 
hot stove to face her, approval showing in her 
little black eyes. 

“ Sakes alive ! How you scairt me ! I didn’t 
hear you at all. Well, say now, you do look 
better. Time? Oh, never mind that. It’s 
’bout ten o’clock. I hoped ye’d sleep till noon. 
Lan’ yes, I ben up since five, movin’ round 
here in my stockin’ feet so’s not to wake ye. 
What did, anyhow? Me slammin’ the door? 
I forgot fer just that minute. But listen to 
me talkin’ here and you with not a bite o’ 
breakfast in ye. Set down ” 

So J eanne was fed on oatmeal with the rich- 


’Jeanne Runs Away i8i 

est cream poured on it she could ever remem- 
ber tasting and bananas sliced over the whole. 
Then coffee and bacon and eggs and crullers 
and even then she could not make the good 
little woman believe she was satisfied. 

“ You ain’t eatin’ anything. Ain’t you well? 
Don’t look none too hearty yet. I say, Joe, — 
that your name? — you better stay here a day 
or so and git rested up. Pop tole me your 
story. You ain’t in any hurry and don’t look 
to me like your last friend fed you anything. 
What say now? There’s your room — and me 
and Pop’s a bit lonesome — John bein’ married 
and gone so far off. It’d be a real kindness 
to see you stayin’ around here for awhile. 
What say now? ” 

Jeanne at first could not say anything. It 
was so unexpected and so utterly out of her 
reckoning. But after all, why not? She was 
tired. And there was no special hurry. And 
if it really was a kindness to the old folks — 
well, she certainly owed it to them. 

So it ended by her settling down in the little 
room under the eaves for an indefinite period. 
She helped Mrs. Applegate wash dishes, 
hunted eggs in the barnyard, fed the chickens 


i 82 


yeanne 

and pigs, and made herself as useful as she 
could. One day she offered to wash the dish 
towels. 

“ You are real handy, I must say. Hand- 
iest boy I’ve ever seen. You’d a’most make a 
better girl.” 

In her vexation at having almost given her- 
self away the color flooded Jeanne’s face. The 
little old lady mistook it for anger and patted 
her shoulder. 

“ There now, there now. Don’t get mad at 
an old woman like me. I didn’t mean it like 
it sounded. You’re a boy all right, inside, 
’cause no girl would ever show the pluck you 
do.” 

So the days passed and Jeanne’s happiness 
grew. But after that one slip she was more 
wary. She put a guard on her tongue and her 
actions and refused absolutely to drive off the 
place with the old man. It just might be that 
Mrs. Wentworth, finding Jeanne gone and 
feeling in a measure responsible for her, would 
start a search. Jeanne wanted to run into no 
danger, although in her heart she did not be- 
lieve Madame capable of so much unselfish- 
ness. 


’Jeanne Runs Away 183 

But after a week of ease and contentment 
impatience returned and Jeanne found herself 
eager to be off. Every time she approached 
the subject the old couple set up such a series 
of laments that Jeanne felt herself heartless 
to leave them. And to their reiterated 
“ \^Tiat’s your hurry? ” she could give no an- 
swer. She could not tell them that she was 
eager to reach Mrs. Stafford’s in time to pre- 
vent her discovering her disappearance from 
the captain’s home in Brooklyn. 

But the trouble was solved for her in an un- 
expected and not altogether pleasing manner. 

Jeanne had gone up to her room early to 
write of this second home of hers to Dr. Jack. 
When approaching voices and footsteps 
warned her that “ comp’ny ” was coming over 
for the evening, she was more than glad she 
had made her escape early, but as the 
“ comp’ny ” stepped into the kitchen directly 
beneath her, her heart suddenly stopped for a 
moment altogether in her fright. Where had 
she heard that voice before? That deep, 
breathy voice blowing up words in chunks 
from the depths of an enormous body? 

Jeanne was paralyzed with fright as the pic- 


184 yeanne 

ture of the big woman and her little husband 
— friends of the captain's she had met in the 
theatre that night — ^I’ose before her. Her heart 
beat tumultuously, nearly to suffocation, and 
no gTeater ten*or since the days of the Germans 
had shaken her than did the words of the new- 
comer as they floated up the stairs to her. 

“ Hear you’re thinkin’ of adoptin’ a little 
boy? Somebody that wandered in, you might 
say. Where is he? Let’s get a look at him.” 

“ He’s gone to bed, I guess,” Mrs. Apple- 
gate’s answer came. “ I haven’t the heart to 
call him down. He’s worked all day, pickin’ 
up apples, and he’s not so strong. True ’bout 
him? ’Bout me adoptin’ him? No, but I’d 
like to ” 

Jeanne heard no more. She was on her 
feet, her shoes slipped off, and moving 
quietly about packing up her belongings. It 
was safe to stay here no longer. She was sorry 
to slip away like a thief in the night but as 
soon as she got safe to Mama Stafford’s she’d 
write back — or come back — and explain. Oh, 
it was a shame to go this way, but it had to be. 
She simply didn’t dare stay a moment longer 
so close to this woman who could, all in a swift 


yeanne Runs Away 185 

moment of recognition, give her secret away, 
undo all she had done and send her trundling 
back to the captain’s mother. 

It only took a few moments, for the bundle 
— her despised suit — was still rolled up ready. 
Jeanne wrote a short little note of thanks and 
regret that she had to go so suddenly and then 
with her shoes in her hands, she slipped 
through the dark, empty, unused front part of 
the house, down the wide stairs and out like a 
shadow into the great still night. 

On the steps she put on her shoes. Then, 
with a heart in which joy to be on her way 
again was mingled with sadness at leaving 
such dear, good people she set out for the next 
adventure. 


CHAPTER XVI 


WITH THE GYPSIES 

With a last backward glance at the low, 
white farmhouse which had offered her shelter 
and love for over a week, Jeanne skipped 
away into the blackness of the night. 

It was hard to leave kindness behind her and 
the first friendliness she had known since the 
captain had left her many weeks ago. But at 
the same time it was something of a relief to 
be on her way again. She had with difficulty 
curbed her impatience and the longer she 
stayed with the Applegates the more closely 
they seemed to bind her there with ties of af- 
fection. Now, however, she had cut the knot. 
She had had to, and with fear unknown as yet 
in her brave little heart, she journeyed on her 
way. 

The night was still. Overhead millions of 
stars were shedding a soft radiance on the dark 
earth. Close by, as she moved along the road, 
sounded the comfortable little chirp of insects. 

186 


With the Gypsies 187 

In the near distance there came to her ears the 
booming voice of a grandfather frog. To most 
girls the night with its immensity and quiet, 
broken only by mysterious stirrings and 
rustlings in the animal world, would have held 
great terror. 

But Jeanne loved it. She swung along 
lightly and eagerly, her face uplifted to the 
heavens, her spirit in silent communion with 
the unseen power that rules the world and 
makes itself most strongly felt at night. She 
had been through such fearful and strange ad- 
venturings with such fortunate results to her- 
self that she had come to feel very close to a 
God whom she could not see or hear but in 
whom she had a clear faith. It was unusual 
in so young a person and was at the same time 
one of Jeanne’s most marked characteristics, 
one that lent her a quaintness and made an 
appeal to older people, while it might strike 
those of her own age as being odd and would 
perhaps later isolate her somewhat from the 
crowd.” 

How far she walked she had no idea, but it 
must have been nearly midnight before she 
turned off the main road into a near-by field 


i88 


yeanne 

and snuggled herself down into the fragrant 
depths of a haymow. 

The next day dawned cloudy. J eanne 
started out bravely with no breakfast, intend- 
ing to beg at the nearest house. She walked 
two hours before she came to one and then 
found it closed. By this time it was raining 
with a steadiness that promised no let-up. 
Jeanne decided to wait on the porch of the 
vacant house. 

There were no chairs, not even a rug. She 
sat down somewhat disconsolately with her 
back against the house and stared out at the 
gray curtain of rain and mist. Of course it 
was foolish to try to go on, but then, what 
would she gain by waiting here? Not a bit of 
food was to be had, and she didn’t have to 
think about keeping her clothes dry because 
she couldn’t possibly hurt them. Besides the 
sooner she got going, the quicker the forty 
miles would be covered. 

In the end Jeanne reached the limit of her 
patience before the noon hour and jamming 
her cap well over her hair and face, she thrust 
her roll of clothes inside her overalls to keep 
them dry and plunged out in the rain with an 


With the Gypsies 189 

air of determination she was very far from 
feeling. 

“ Perhaps I’ll meet a nice old man again,” 
she thought hopefully. 

But Jeanne’s luck seemed to have turned. 
Nothing passed her that she felt she could stop 
except a moving van. That did halt for re- 
pairs a few moments in the road ahead of her 
and Jeanne, not quite liking the looks of the 
driver, climbed up quickly and hid herself 
among the furniture that was strapped on out- 
side the closed doors. It was her first and last 
venture along this line. The truck went too 
fast for her to dare to drop off and she could 
not make the driver hear above the rumble and 
rattle. She had to wait until he paused at a 
lunch-cart for food before she could climb out 
of her hiding-place and then, on inquiry, she 
discovered she was many miles out of her 
way. 

Jeanne was dismayed. She trudged back 
along the road she had traversed in great de- 
jection. Darkness fell and she approached a 
house to beg for food and shelter. But a timid 
old woman, opening the door only a crack, 
shouted to her so violently to go away that 


190 yeanne 

she turned and left before she had half told 
her story. 

It was so over and over again. In the dark- 
ness people were fearful of a stranger. They 
saw only a disreputable figure in boy’s clothing 
and doors were shut before the light could 
fully reveal Jeanne’s face. At last she gave 
up and crawled under a hedge soaked throu^ 
without having had a bite of food all day. The 
night was interminable. She woke several 
times, shivering with cold and feeling as 
though her head were being pounded in a dozen 
places with hard little hammers. 

The next morning it was clear. Jeanne 
crept to a pump in the nearest yard before 
sun-up, managed to procure a drink of water, 
and wash her face and hands, and then started 
on her way again. 

“ I ought to be able to do ten miles a day,” 
she reasoned. ‘‘ And three more days will get 
me there. J ust three little days ” 

But she had reasoned without a burning sun 
that beat down mercilessly on her aching head; 
she had not figured on marching along on an 
empty stomach; she had not reckoned with a 
stifling dust that filled and choked her throa4:. 


the Gypsies 191 

Somehow the three days passed but Jeanne 
had not covered the miles. She had begged 
food, sometimes successfully, as often not. If 
people were kind they were more than kind 
and Jeanne’s pockets were filled for the next 
meal. If they were curt, the sensitive child 
left them, empty-handed and hungrier than 
before because of the sniff of good things that 
had come to her from the kitchen. 

Not again did she get a bed to sleep in. 
Once she found a bam and made herself com- 
fortable, with thanksgivings, from a sharp 
wind, but twice she slept in the open, suffering 
always from the cold of dew and dampness and 
sudden showers. 

By the fourth day Jeanne was thin and 
feverish. Her courage was undaunted but she 
acknowledged to herself that the task seemed 
too big for her at present. She lay in the 
warm sun many hours, too tired to move even 
to beg for food, and as night drew near, 
she was attacked alternately by chills and 
fever. 

Jeanne lifted herself on her elbow dizzily. 

I must move on,” she thought. “ I am not 
so badly oflf as I have been at times. hon 


192 yeanne 

Dieu has forgotten me for a moment but he 
will recall, I am sure.” 

Through the dusk of the road approached a 
long procession. Jeanne watched them in 
curiosity. She had never heard of gypsies but 
as the covered wagons drew up beside the road 
and the inmates jumped to the ground and 
began encamping for the night, Jeanne knew 
them by their clothes and customs to be vaga- 
bonds like herself. 

She watched fires brighten here and there, 
heard soft singing and smelled delicious soup. 
At last she could stand it no longer. She 
pulled herself up and with difficulty made her 
way into the ring of people. 

The men were bearded and uncouth with 
fierce, bright eyes; the old women were hags, 
filthy enough to terrorize any child, but the 
young women were attractive in their bright 
colors and the babies were just like other ba- 
bies the world over. Jeanne was not afraid. 

She begged for food. They gathered about 
her not comprehending a word she said, and 
the babble that arose was bewildering. But 
J eanne finally made them understand by pan- 
tomime and in the end she was given hot soup, 


With the Gypsies 193 

bread and potatoes, and was finally allowed to 
crawl up into a hot, stuffy van and nestle down 
in straw and bad-smelling blankets among six 
other children. 

Days passed. Jeanne, struggling hard to 
fight the illness that seemed determined to 
overpower her, gave up trying to locate her 
whereabouts. Perhaps she was going right — 
perhaps she would be taken miles off her course 
again, but she was too miserable to care, and 
unable to make them understand if she had 
tried. 

She submitted in a daze to various potions 
and herbs they brewed for her in genuine kind- 
ness of spirit, and one night — she was never 
sure whether her fever-crazed brain imagined 
it or not — an old hag, particularly loathsome 
to behold, began murmuring some witch’s in- 
cantation over a boiling cauldron, all the time 
casting dark, mysterious glances on her as she 
lay in her evil-smelling bunk. 

She had other memories, though, of her 
gypsy trail, other more pleasant ones though 
vague. There were sunlit hours in green and 
gold woods when a particularly attractive 
young wench with black curls and snapping 


194 Jeann& 

eyes danced to the music of a clanking tam- 
bourine; hours of creeping dusk and long 
shadows when tumbling babies were gathered 
into young mother-arms and were crooned to 
sleep; hours of evening blackness pierced by 
the leaping red flames of a huge bonfire, when 
swarthy figures of men moved silently about 
the sleeping camp and at last flung themselves 
prone on the ground before the blaze to gxiard 
their little village. And there were last of all 
the times when her sleep was broken and there 
came to her confused mind the sounds of 
stamping horses, rattle of harness, low voices 
of men; — and they were off in the deep still- 
ness of the night moving mysteriously — from 
what to where? 

Had Jeanne been herself she would have 
questioned vigorously. But days passed. 
The herbs and potions and incantations did no 
good, and she lost consciousness of everything, 
— time, her surroundings, her ultimate goal. 
There was nothing but pain and thirst in the 
world. She never knew how alarmed they be- 
came as her delirium increased and she never 
knew that in the dead of night she was lifted 
in the arms of one of the men and carried into 


With the Gypsies 195 

the heart of the nearest town where she was de^ 
posited on the steps of a hospital. 

The gypsies were kind but cautious. They 
had discovered her disguise, recognized her 
beauty and kept her, hoping her sickness would 
pass and they could help her to her home. But 
as she grew worse instead of better they be- 
came fearful of being followed and accused of 
having stolen some child of wealthy parents. 
So they took what seemed to them the safest 
and most sensible course. 

Jeanne was found within an hour and was 
taken into a ward where she lay among others ; 
but none was so nameless and so friendless as 
she. 



CHAPTER XVII 


THE NEW MAMA 

Jeanne lay listless and white in her narrow 
cot. The nurse and doctor had just left her, 
their ears still ringing with her strange story. 
They had waited until she was well enough to 
be questioned; but as she talked, they some- 
times wondered if she was not yet still a little 
out of her head, — so unusual was the tale. 

Jeanne had told it all, — all, that is, except- 
ing her connection with the German, and the 
name of the captain’s mother. She was so 
afraid of being sent back to Brooklyn that she 
was careful to give no clue that would enable 
the authorities here to do so. She did, how- 
ever, tell Mrs. Stafford’s name, and it was in 
the effort to locate her that the doctor and 
nurse had finally left Jeanne to her thoughts. 

“ I am getting to be vairy clever,” she 
thought complacently. “ If I had told of 
Monsieur Bachrach they would have hunted 
him up and — presto — all my runaway would 
be in vain. Now if Mama Stafford is not yet 
196 


The New Mama 197 

returned they must keep me here for there is 
no other place to go.” 

She looked about her and smiled. 

“ I like it here. It is clean and quiet and 
white. But I should like better to go to my 
new Mama’s. I begin to feel a weariness of 
travelling and adventure. I should like to be 
— what Monsieur Kelly says — anchored.” 

She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, 
but before she slipped into oblivion she recalled 
with comfort a bit of news that the nurse had 
given her. She had arrived at the hospital 
without bundle, or other clothes than she had 
on her back. The hated suit was gone forever. 

The days went by. Lazy days of sleeping 
and eating and day-dreaming; days of pure 
physical comfort and rest for the tired little 
refugee. Mrs. Stafford had not yet been heard 
from and the Hospital Staff had unanimously 
accepted Jeanne’s presence for so long as she 
needed actual medical care at least. Further 
than that they did not look. 

Then came a day when Jeanne was allowed 
up in a wheeled chair and she traversed the 
length of the long white room, visiting 
wherever she received an eager or wistful 


198 yeanne 

smile. She made friends, of course. Her sure 
sympathy and quaint, bright way of looking 
at life always made her welcome. 

She was just being helped back into bed 
and was brushing her golden curls when a 
nurse dropped a paper in her lap as she hur- 
ried on her round of duties. 

Jeanne tied her hair with her one ribbon 
close on her neck and propped the pillows com- 
fortably behind her. She was tired, yes, and 
hungry, but nowhere near so tired and hungry 
as she had been at times. She leaned back a 
moment and closed her eyes in content. Then 
she reached forward for the paper and began 
to read until her lunch tray should appear. 

Suddenly a large headline of an article near 
the middle of the page caught her eye: 

“ Hunt for Runaway Refugee.” 

Jeanne leaned closer and raced through the 
article. There it was — all of it — ^her history 
just as she had told it to the nurses! But it 
ended with the note to the captain, for of 
course her adventures past that point were not 
known. And of course it gave Mrs. Stafford’s 
name and address with an urgent appeal that 


T^he New Mama 199 

anyone who had seen or heard of Jeanne would 
report to her at once. Her new Mama was 
home and looking for her at last! 

Jeanne gasped and then called out excitedly 
for her nurse. She nodded from across the 
room and Jeanne had to restrain herself until 
it came her turn to be waited on. 

“ Are you so hungry? ” the nurse asked 
smiling as she approached Jeanne’s bed with 
her tray. 

“ Oh, never mind lunch! ” Jeanne answered 
breathlessly. “ See, nurse! Here I am! All 
my story as I told you! Put in by my new 
Mama who is searching for me! Oh, do tele- 
phone her quickly and tell her I am here! ” 

She thrust the newspaper into the nurse’s 
hand who read it hurriedly, then nodded. 

“ I will report this at once. Patience a lit- 
tle longer, Jeanne,” she added in her quiet 
voice, “ and eat your lunch, for Mrs. Stafford 
cannot possibly get here for about two hours.” 

She disappeared and Jeanne — well, Jeanne 
might have been eating butterflies’ wings. She 
was in such a tremor of excitement she could 
not imagine how she would wait. A message 
came back to her that Mrs. Stafford was on 


200 


yeanne 

her way. Jeanne’s heart thumped until she 
was sure it would break through her skin, and 
after lunch she lay with her big eyes glued on 
the door, catching her breath every time any- 
one entered. 

The minutes were hours — days — centuries, 
but at last came the head nurse in the doorway 
and with her a lady whom Jeanne divined at 
once was her new Mama. There was a nod 
from the head nurse in Jeanne’s direction and 
Jeanne caught a smile from the distant figure. 
Then she sat up in bed and held out her arms, 
her face white, her eyes ashine. 

“Mama!” she called in her clear sweet 
voice. “ Oh! My new dear Mama! ” 

Mrs. Stafford was at Jeanne’s bed in an in- 
stant, her arms about the slight little figure 
which clung to her so closely. 

“ You are my little Jeanne Lanier! ” 

The vibrant, sweet, low tones assured 
J eanne of its owner even before the words had 
all come. 

With a glad cry Jeanne opened her eyes and 
looked up into the face of her new Mama. It 
needed no second glance following the first 
swift one to assure her that Dr. Jack’s Aunt 


201 


The New Mama 

Bee was all and more than her letters and he 
had promised. There was understanding and 
a big world love and tenderness and pity and 
comfort and safety in her face, and Jeanne 
responded to it with happy tears and laughter 
and breathless sobs. 

“We will go now, quickly,” Jeanne heard 
Mrs. Stafford say through the whirl of emo- 
tion that shook her. “ Thank you so much. 
Miss Ballock, for all you have done for my 
little girl. Dear,” she turned back to 
Jeanne, “ the nurse will help you dress and 
then we will go home.” 

Jeanne remembered shaking hands with the 
head nurse and then being helped into her 
clothes. Then she was wheeled past countless 
eyes, down many long corridors, until at last 
she was lifted safely in an automobile, and was 
tucked up against Mama’s spotless, fragrant 
daintiness. 

“ Is it true — that I am here? ” she asked at 
last. “ And that you want me forever? ” 

Jeanne drew herself away and looked at her 
mother with wide, happy eyes. 

“How beautiful you are!” she said. “I 
must not touch you. I am all rough and 


202 


Jeanne 

stained. My own Mama used to wear such 
soft things like these. Do you know? ” She 
paused to look at the dark hair framing a fine 
earnest face where goodness and sweetness 
shone; at the kind brown eyes and generous 
mouth, and flushed soft cheek. “ Do you 
know! You look very much like my mother. 
She was not so tall as you — she was yetite — 
like me — but her hair and eyes were like yours. 
I am glad that is so.” 

Jeanne had much to say. She felt instant 
sympathy and love surrounding her and she 
poured out her story just as it came to her, 
backwards or forwards, French or English, 
with many self-interruptions and explanations. 
Mrs. Stafford listened only nodding sympa- 
thetically or squeezing the little hand that 
nestled in hers. She was astonished at 
Jeanne’s calm recitation of dreadful times, 
hurt at the miderstanding she showed for all 
f ellow-suff ering. 

“ And so — ^because I could not do much 
good, and only ate food that someone else 
might have, — I came away from France. It 
was not wrong, was it. Mama? ” 

“ I think not, dear; at any rate, I am glad 


T^he New Mama 203 

you did it, glad, glad you left it behind. I 
want so much to give you back happiness once 
again.” 

“ I have it already, Mama. Tell me, do you 
hear from Doctor Jack? ” 

“ No, my dear, I haven’t heard from him 
since he went to the front.” 

“ But I have. He was safe at that time and 
resting. He told me to tell you so. The letter 
arrived just before I left. I wrote him a long 
one on board telling him of all I had done. 
He will be surprised. Is it not so? Where 
are we going, Mama? ” 

‘‘ To my home, dearest, in the countiy. I 
live just a little way from here, far from busy, 
bustling New York and I like it better. My 
home is close to the river and from your win- 
dow you can see the boats come and go. We 
will be there very soon now.” 

Jeanne looked out of the window at the 
streets where people were crowding past. 

“ They are all dressed in beautiful clothes — 
so many in beautiful clotlies. Do they know 
there are many who have only ragged, dirty 
clothes on their backs and no more anywhere? 
Do they know? ” 


204 


yeanne 

“ They are coming to know it,” Mrs. Staf- 
ford made answer. “You may perhaps, later, 
tell some people about it and they will bestir 
themselves to send clothes and money.” 

“ I should like to do that,” Jeanne replied. 

Then for a long time she sat silent in the 
comfortable car with her feet in their ridiculous 
shoes curled under her, and her shining head 
against the soft stuff on Mama’s arm. In this 
way they passed out of the city into the calm 
peace and quiet of the country where the spring 
blossoms and flowers were brightening the 
brown world. 

“ I told Monsieur le Capitaine I could 
smell the spring. I told him so in the ocean. 
It was so. I could smell all those things grow- 
ing and — Oh! How beautiful it is. But one 
would not know it was spring in Brooklyn.” 

Jeanne liked the way her words could fall 
into a comfortable silence. She was always 
sure Mama heard and understood and it left 
her free to continue talking or not as she 
chose. 

“ You do not laugh at my so funny looks,” 
she observed, sticking the boy’s shoe out for 
inspection. 


T'he New Mama 205 

“ I don’t want to laugh, dear,” Mrs. Stafford 
answered quietly, with a closer hug. “ Will 
you be glad to have new clothes? ” 

“You bet!” Jeanne made sudden surpris- 
ing answer, and at her mother’s startled smile 
she grinned and the dimple came and Mrs. 
Stafford stared in amazement at the subtle 
swift change the smile made in Jeanne’s face. 
“ Oh, oui, I am learning to be a good Ameri- 
can. I should know^ much slang if I talk with 
Monsieur Kelly much. He is as full of it as 
— as a stuffed pig! ” 

Mrs. Stafford’s laugh was music and 
Jeanne’s light spilling one was a revelation to 
the older woman. 

“ To laugh is good,” Jeanne said. “ It un- 
wrinkles all your insides. It is O. K.” 

And again the two laughed in utter aban- 
donment as Jeanne could not remember doing 
since Dr. Jack had left her. 

They were by this time bowling along a 
broad, black road. Beside them they could 
glimpse the shining blue river occasionally 
through the trees and on the other side were 
beautiful lawns sweeping back to half-hidden 
beautiful homes. 


2 o 6 yeanne 

“Do you live in a so-big house?” Jeanne 
queried. 

Mrs. Stafford shook her head. 

“No, I should be lost in a place like that. 
Lost and lonesome. I live in a small white 

cottage where But you shall see. There 

is only one thing I may tell you. That is — 
Katy.” 

“ Who is Katy? ” 

“ Katy is my old-time nurse, my cook, my 
laundress, my — boss. There aren’t many 
Katies these days, so I value her. She is fat 
and soft and creased and rosy and scolding and 
good.” 

“ I can see her,” Jeanne replied. “ And I 
shall love her. Is that all of your family? ” 

“ That is all except James.” She nodded 
to the chauffeur. “ James is a man-katy. He 
cuts the lawn and grows the flowers and runs 
the cars and shoos away marauders.” 

“ I shall love him too, then, if he belongs to 
you,” J eanne replied. “ And now tell me. 
Mama, where have you been that no one could 
find you? ” 

“ I took an unexpected trip to California, 
dear, on business. I expected to go straight 


The New Mama 


207 

out and back again, so I left no fonvarding 
address as I knew mail would not reach me. 
I never expected cablegrams! Of course I 
was delayed. The business took longer than 
I had anticipated and when I got back and 
found the cable, and the telegram, — you may 
imagine how I flew about ! It did not tal^e me 
long to get to Mrs. Wentworth’s and then I 
found you gone.” An arm drew Jeanne still 
closer. “ Oh, little girl, I felt dreadfully. We 
read your note to the captain but that gave me 
little clue. You might so easily have been 
lost. I filled the newspapers with the story in 
my endeavor to locate you. But never mind 
all that. I have you safe now. And I shall 
never let you go again.” 

“ And we are going home,” Jeanne ended 
happily. “ Home,” she repeated softly. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE END OF HARD TIMES 

A GENTLE sweep of emerald lawn, cut in its 
centre by a red brick walk, led up to the low 
green-shuttered bungalow that was Jeanne’s 
new home. Two wings, on either end of the 
main living-room, reached out like white arms 
in welcome. A low picket fence joining the 
jutting wings and clambered over by scar- 
let roses, seemed to warn newcomers that 
only love could enter the arched gateway and 
pass through the gardened recess into the great 
living-room. 

“ Your home is like you. Mama,” Jeanne 
said. “ It seems to be filled with love and 
quietness and peace. I feel so much better 
already.” 

She went arm in arm with Mrs. Stafford 
through the great Dutch door, cut exactly in 
half across its centre in the quaint old style, 
into the cool gray and blue living-room. Di- 
rectly opposite the door was a huge stone fire- 
place, a work of art in coloring. Here nestled 
208 


T*he End of Hard Hmes 209 

cosily built-in seats, low and comfortable with 
cushions; a stone shelf overhead held nothing 
but a unique tiled painting of the old Dutch 
ship T>e Halve Maen. The rag rug, the heavy 
square furniture, the wrought iron andirons 
and door bolts gave the finishing touches to a 
perfect room. 

“ Do you like it, dear? ” Mrs. Stafford 
asked. 

“Oh, much!” Jeanne replied. “ Nevaire 
have I seen a house so unique. What is here. 
Mama? ” 

She ran to a door at one end of the living- 
room. It led out on to a low screened-in 
veranda, which made the wing at one end. 
Here white wicker furniture cushioned in gay 
cretonne; a glorious big swing, a table of 
books and magazines invited them to sit at ease 
but Jeanne shook her head and begged to see 
the rest of the house. 

“ There is not much left,” Mrs. Stafford 
said laughing. “ Just the dining-room and 
kitchen at the other end of the living-room. I 
wanted an outdoor breakfast room but that 
could not be managed so we did the best we 
could.” 


210 


yeanne 

“ This is as good as eating outdoors, is it 
not so?” Jeanne cried. And truly it was. 
For the dining-room, in the front end of the 
other wing, had five great casement windows 
flung wide to admit big breaths of pure air 
and squares of golden light. It too was in 
blue, and boasted a plate rail of real antique 
plates and a set of old furniture with caned 
seats and straight mahogany backs in which 
was laid a touch of blue hand painting. Back 
of this sunny room was a wee kitchen, with 
shining kettles and pans hung conveniently 
on the walls; a spotless tiled floor in blue and 
white; spotless blue and wliite curtains; spot- 
less white sink and shining range; a spotless 
white cuj)board filled with dainty gold dishes 
and a spotless, rosy Katy waiting to give the 
“ refuge ” a warm kiss on each cheek. 

“ The saints be prraised that ye’ve left a 
hathin countree and have came to God’s own,” 
she cried. “ ’Tis filled with spunk they say ye 
are. Well, if ye are ye’re not filled with much 
else for never did Oi see such a rack o’ bones 
in me whole loife. Misthress Stafford, I’ve a 
warm bite aready. Will ye be atin’ it noo or 
must ye change the little darlint’s clothes? ” 


211 


The End of Hard Times 

She cast a disapproving glance over 
Jeanne’s attire and Jeanne suddenly spilled 
out her high, light laugh. 

“ These are all in the world I possess, Katy,” 
she cried. “ Excuse me, s’il vons plait/* 

“ Seel voo — what iver are ye sayin’? Don’t 
ye dare be handin’ any av that German talk 
to me. I hate them wan and all and not a 
worrd will Oi read of their vile doin’s in the 
paper. Some day Misthress Stafford will be 
struck blind from radin’ the onchristian stuff.” 

“We will be ready in about twenty minutes, 
Katy. Have you something hot to drinli? ” 

“ Yis, mum, cocoa and hot biscuits, the bist 
ye’ve ever flung your face aroound.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, Katy, but you must be 
careful what slang you use before Miss 
Jeanne. She is quick to remember it.” 

“ I shall remember that,” Jeanne said. “ It 
is a so vairy funny one.” 

She followed her mother through the wee 
kitchen and up two steps to a door that let 
them on to the stair landing in the dining- 
room. Just twelve steps more and they were 
up-stairs in the low-ceiled bedrooms. 

Mrs. Stafford’s room went from front to 


212 


Jeanne 

back and was the largest at the head of the 
stairs. Jeanne just glimpsed gray wicker 
furniture, a bowl of pink roses on a table desk ; 
quaint patterned gray and pink curtains ; then 
she was led past a shining white bathroom 
along the hall into her own room in the centre 
of the house. 

“ This is yours, dear,” Mrs. Stafford said. 
“ It is not so big as mine, but it faces the front. 
Katy’s room and bath are next but she comes 
up the back way. You will see all the sun- 
sets, and — come — here at this Avindow. If 
you look across the road and through the 
stretch of Avoodland beloAV, you can catch the 
shining blue waters of the Hudson. Do you 
like it? ” 

Jeanne’s eyes were filled with happy tears. 

“ I have so much hapi)iness it hurts me to 
breathe,” she said. “ This so very beautiful 
white room is mine? This little bed and desk 
and dresser? This blue rug? Oh, Mama, I 
love it. Always at night when I am ready for 
bed I shall kneel in this AA^hite windoAV seat 
where I may see the heavens and thank le bon 
Dieu for His goodness to me.” 

There was a silence while Mrs. Stafford gave 


"The End of Hard "Times 213 

her new daughter a big hug that answered 
better than words. Then she opened a closet 
door. 

“ I shall draw a bath for you, sweetheart. 
Wouldn’t it feel good? And after that you 
may look at your clothes. But you must slip 
into a nightie and wrapper now for you must 
go back to bed after lunch.” 

Piles and piles of soft white underclothes 
new and whole and fragrant; a closet full of 
rainbow-colored dresses, yellow, green, blue, 
pink and white, a shelf where wee shoes, low 
and high, black, white and tan, lined them- 
selves up for inspection, — Jeanne wondered if 
she had not taken a trip to heaven instead of 
America ! 

“ You must not so much as peep at me, 
Mama,” she cried from the bathroom where 
she was rubbing and scrubbing herself in a 
glory of suds, “ until I am quite ‘ feenee ’ as 
Doctaire Jack says. Well, perhaps if you 
would like, you may see me in my so pretty 
pink robe and slippers.” 

She slipped into her mother’s room, a rosy, 
shining, happy-faced girl, with her golden 
curls piled carelessly on top of her head. One 


214 


yeanne 

had slipped down over her ear, and bobbed 
saucily at every movement of Jeanne’s slight 
body. 

“ You’re no bigger than a minute.” Mrs. 
Stafford laid down her book and Jeanne came 
into her arms and curled up like a kitten. 
“ Feel better? ” 

“I feel new — like — ^like — ^a just-born baby, 
I think.” 

“ There’s Katy ringing the luncheon gong. 
We must hurry. She hates to have her meal 
get cold.” 

“ There will not be much chance for it to 
cool to-day. I am what you call starved.” 

A few moments later when she went down- 
stairs, Katy’s face nearly fell apart in her 
astonishment. For Jeanne was a new being; 
golden curls agleam and smoothly brushed, 
clung about her white neck. A faint pink in 
her cheeks darkened the soft brown of the 
beautiful big eyes. But of course it was the 
clothes that made the difference, for in her 
dainty pink silk kimono, Jeanne’s little figure 
showed every quick grace of movement, and 
the little slippers revealed slender ankles and 
a high arched foot of good breeding. 


T'he End of Hard T'imes 215 

Mrs. Stafford’s warning glance checked the 
voluble comment about to be poured forth, and 
Katy had to content herself with admiring 
glances. These changed to looks of perfect 
satisfaction as biscuits and cocoa, cold chicken, 
fried potatoes and tomato salad disappeared 
again and again from Jeanne’s plate. 

“ Soon at this rate I shall be filled out beeg,” 
she cried. 

We hope so,” Mrs. Stafford smiled. 
“You could carry a little extra weight, I 
think.” 

So in this home of love and peace Jeanne 
at last rested. For weeks she saw no one. 
Mrs. Stafford refused to submit her to curious 
glances and questionings. Of course her story 
had reached the papers and reporters buzzed 
busily about the front door but Jeanne was 
always in the kitchen learning some new house- 
hold task with Katy; or down in the wild 
woodland across the shaded road where spring 
blossoms were lifting their faces for the warm 
wind’s first kiss ; where a hammock was slung 
between two great trees for Jeanne to stretch 
in and sleep or read; where a rope swing, hung 
from a gi-eat gnarled limb, sent her flying to 


2i6 


Jeanne 

the leafy roof overhead and brought the laugh- 
ter and color to her lips. 

So the days passed. 

“ I live like that just-born baby I feel like,” 
Jeanne said once. “ I eat and sleep and wash. 
I get the air too, — in an automobile, not a baby 
carriage though. Am I not to go to school. 
Mama? Since the long winter I have not 
been.” 

“ Not yet — not this spring, I think,” Mrs. 
Stafford replied. “ We will fatten you first 
and get rid of that cough.” 

The little cough troubled Mrs. Stafford 
though it did not bother Jeanne. It had been 
with her since the days in the ruined cellar and 
she was used to it. However, she was rather 
glad to have the cough because it gave her a 
beautiful screened-in sleeping porch all her 
own. Mrs. Stafford had taken the tiny attic 
over the front end of the dining-room and had 
had it transformed into Jeanne’s private bal- 
cony. Here a cot was placed, and at night 
Jeanne loved to close her eyes Avith the sound 
of the contented peepers in her ears and the 
remembrance of the starry heavens across 
which the moon was riding. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE FINDING OF FRIENDS 

Jeanne had been in her new home a month 
and already was a transformed little girl. Her 
coloring was still delicate but it had deepened, 
and the white of her neck and arms was an 
even tan. But a bigger change than health 
was seen in her, for her face was lifted some- 
what from its old, sad look, and more and 
more, as the sunlight smile came to the surface 
and her spilling laugh rang out, did the lines 
of sadness fade. In repose her face was seri- 
ous and her big eyes brooding as though they 
were still seeing cruel things, but Mrs. Staf- 
ford did not give Jeanne much opportunity to 
remember. 

She was constantly with her and their talk 
was always of the present and the future. To 
be sure the war was not forgotten. Mrs. Staf- 
ford did not desire that. She herself went 
217 


2i8 


yeanne 

regularly to the Red Cross rooms wher^ 
clothes were being made for the Belgian refu- 
gees ; and she brought home her arms full that 
Jeanne might help her. 

This Jeanrie loved. From her mother she 
had inherited a skillful dexterity with the nee- 
dle and her nimble fingers flew in and out over 
the black goods like white lightning. 

“But, Mama! I do not like it that these 
dresses should be black,’' she cried. “ It will 
not make them glad.” 

“ I don’t like it either, dear, but it is be- 
lieved to be the most practical thing. You 
yourself probably know that.” 

“ Yes — just the samey,” Jeanne smiled in 
pleased content at her Americanism, “ just the 
samey I could not bear it; so I did this.” 

She held up for inspection a sombre dress, 
on the front of which was a small touch of \ 
embroidery in red and green. ^ 

“ That little spot of brightness makes a very | 
difference,” she explained. “ I believe it must { 
remain there.” ij 

Mrs. Stafford admitted that it did lift the | 
ugliness a good deal from the garments and in | 
the end the dresses from that town were all 


The Finding of Friends 219 

brought home to Jeanne for her swift fingers 
to work in circles and dashes and crosses of 
gay coloring. 

But Mrs. Stafford did not let her sew too 
steadily. With critical eyes of love on her 
daughter she would often take the dresses 
from her and send her running down to the 
woodland for a swing. 

iVnd there were many happy hours spent in 
the wee kitchen with Katy. Her big heart had 
opened to the sweet little French orphan and 
she was never too busy to welcome her into 
her Idngdom. Jeanne, wrapped in a huge 
apron, made her first ventures into the realm 
of cooking and was as proud as Punch over 
her first muffins and her first cakes. 

“ But this I do not understand. Mama,” she 
said. “ Dr. Jack ” — she had learned to say it 
better though her J was still softly slurred, — 
said that you had much money. Why then, 
do you not have more Katies to wait upon 
you? In France we too had money, but there 
were many to do our work for us.” 

“ It is my American independence, I guess,” 
Mrs. Stafford explained. “ I do not like to be 
waited on, hand and foot. I like to make my 


220 


yeanne 

own bed, and I take great pleasure in dusting 
my home and bringing in fresh flowers every 
day. Besides I have not so much money, my 
dear. Don’t think that. But what I have, I 
like to share with others less fortunate.” 

Jeanne came to learn what she meant by that 
in a strange, sweet way. She came running 
up to Mrs. Stafford’s room one day in a flutter 
of unusual excitement. 

“ See, Mama! A letter for me. For me! 
And not from Dr. Jack. It is from someone 
in America. Who can it be? I know divil a 
soul!” 

“Jeanne!” her mother cried. “My dear! 
Katy is a good woman but you must not begin 
to quote her conversation ! ” 

Jeanne’s high, sweet laugh spilled out. 
Then she dropped in quick grace on the floor 
at Mrs. Stafford’s feet. 

“ Listen while I read. I cannot imagine 
who writes me. 

“ ‘ Dear Jeanne: 

“ ‘ Your story has come to me through 
the papers and I feel very sure you must be 
the Jeanne Lanier whose father and mother 
we knew so well many years ago. It has 


T’he Finding of Friends 221 

seemed a little strange to me that we have not 
heard from you, for surely you must have been 
told of us, but there is probably an explanation 
for that. Your very beautiful mother and 
splendid father were our near neighbors here 
in Bridgeton, ten years ago, and we thought 
so much of them. I cannot begin to tell you 
how I grieve with you at their loss but I had 
to try in my poor way to show you my sym- 
pathy. 

“ ‘ I want very much to see you, dear, for I 
remember you as a very small girlie, laughing 
and gay like your dad, but it is impossible for 
me to journey far from our small home. My 
four children keep me quite busy. However, 
if you should ever pass by this way with Mrs. 
Stafford it would make me most happy to 
have you stop in. I imagine there is nothing 
I can do for you for the papers say you have 
been fortunate enough to find a real home with 
a lovely woman; but if ever there should be 
any small or big thing you wish to ask of us 
we should be very proud to hear of it for your 
mother’s and father’s sake. 

“ ‘ Most sincerely your friend, 

“ ‘ Ada Johnson.’ 

‘‘Mama!” Jeanne cried Avith uplifted, 
flushed face. “ She is surely the one whose 
name I lost. It must be.” 


222 


yeanne 

“ I think so too, dear,” Mrs. Stafford re- 
plied. “ Shall we spin over to-morrow and 
look them up? It is not far.” 

Jeanne was excited and delighted. It gave 
her suddenly a warm, cosy home feeling to dis- 
cover she had friends in America eager to see 
her. Dressed her prettiest in a pale blue 
dress and big floppy white hat she climbed 
in the luxurious limousine beside Mrs. 
Stafford the next day and they started for 
Bridgeton. 

In less than two hours they had reached the 
small rambling town. After inquiries they 
found the right street and started slowly down 
its narrow way looking for the street number. 

“There it is!” Jeanne cried. “There is 
number two hundred and thirty.” 

They stopped before a little shabby white 
house that sadly needed a coat of paint. As 
they passed through the tumble-down picket 
gate that was half off its hinges, two boys who 
had ceased their ball throwing to stare at the 
unusual sight of a limousine in front of their 
humble door, made an embarrassed and hasty 
dash for the house. 

Mrs. Stafford and Jeanne smiled as they 


"The Finding of Friends 223 

pulled the loose door-bell, for they heard clat- 
tering feet tear up the stairs within and a 
hoarse voice — now squealing, now gruff — say 
in a stage whisper: 

“Oh! Mother! It’s them! The stowaway 
French girl and Mrs. Stafford!” 

And then the reply in a sweet, low voice: 

“ Oh ! Steve, you will have to go to the door. 
I must change my dress. Show them into the 
parlor, dear, and tell them I’ll be do^vn in a 
moment! ” 

“Oh, gee! Mother, I can’t!” came in a 
stage frightened gasp. “ Make Harry! ” 

“Steve! Don’t be silly! You’re keeping 
tliem waiting. Hurry, dear, please.” 

So a few seconds later Mrs. Stafford and a 
dimpling Jeanne were ushered by a blushing, 
stammering, awkward youth into a shabby, 
low-ceiled room that for all its worn furniture 
spelled home. Steve made a hasty exit after 
his murmured speech and a few seconds later 
Mrs. Johnson entered. 

Jeanne saw a quick-motioned, bright-eyed 
little lady whose smile was sweet despite the 
weariness in her face, 

“ Mrs. Stafford, this is good of ymi^” she 


224 yeanne 

cried warmly. And then both hands were put 
on Jeanne’s shoulders and a sympathetic look 
of love was given her with a swift kiss. 

“It is the little Jeanne I remember. I 
should have known you anywhere. I am so 
glad, so very glad, that you are safe and 
happy. But tell me, dear, didn’t your mother 
or father ever speak of us? ” 

So once again Jeanne told her thrilling 
story, and during its recital the fifteen-year-old 
twins, Harry and Steve, edged their way into 
the room and stood listening with intent eyes. 
They were identical in looks, with their big 
frames so awkwardly managed at present, and 
their thick tumbled black hair and gray, dark, 
fringed eyes. There was something im- 
mensely likeable about them, Mrs. Stafford 
decided, in spite of their ragged, untidy ap- 
pearance, for their eyes were steady and fear- 
less and their mouths were firm. It did not 
take her long, however, to find a distinct dif- 
ference in their manners. Steve was painfully 
shy and shuffled uneasily whenever Jeanne’s 
or Mrs. Stafford’s glances rested upon him; 
but Harry had inclinations toward sociability. 
He was the first to sit dovm, the first to send 


*The Finding of Friends 225 

a smile to Jeanne and the first to make a direct 
remark to her. 

“ Gee! You had nerve! he said when she 
had finished. 

J eanne’s sunlight smile and easy manner as 
she opened conversation with him put him at 
once at his ease. 

“ I am a daughter of France, you know,’^ 
she reminded him simply. “ And my father 
was a soldier. You are the vairy first Ameri- 
can boys whom I have so far seen. Of course 
there was Dr. Jack — but he is not a boy. 
What is it you were playing as I came in? ” 

‘‘ Oh, we were just having a catch,’’ Harry 
replied. 

“ May we not all have a catch now? ” 
Jeanne asked. “ I desire to learn American 
ways and American games. Do girls play? ” 

“Xaw!” came from Steve. “Girls are 
scared of a ball.” 

“But I am not! Come! Show me!” 
J eanne cried imperiously, and in a minute they 
were in the yard. The big glove Jeanne could 
hardly hold in her hand, and the hard ball 
hurt; nevertheless, with determined, flashing 
eyes and brilliant cheeks she stood her ground 


226 yeanne 

until even Steve reluctantly gave her her 
due. 

“ But you can’t throw for a cent,” he said. 

‘‘ That is right,” Jeanne answered squarely. 
“ I am n. g. with the throw.” 

Her funny unexpected twist of American 
slang sent the boys into a burst of laughter, 
and it was at this juncture that Mrs. Stafford 
and Mrs. Johnson appeared at the door. Mrs. 
Johnson had a small baby in her arms that she 
was trying to quiet with patient j)attings, and 
a thin little girl of about nine peered timidly 
from behind her skirts. 

“ It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. 
Johnson,” Jeanne’s mother was saying. 
“ You may be sure we will not lose track of 
you. Jeanne’s friends are my friends. You 
would let your two boys come spend the day 
with Jeanne at times, would you not? And 
perhaps little Margaret too.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Stafford,” the tired little woman 
sighed. That would be too good, really. I 
haven’t had a day to myself in years ; of course 
I’d have the baby but she’s really no trouble. 
She’s just hungry now. That’s why she frets.” 

“ Then we won’t keep her from her supper 


The Finding of Friends 227 

any longer. Some day next week, Mrs. John- 
son, I’ll send the car over for the boys and 
Margaret. Jeanne will be glad of playmates, 
I am sure.” 

So it came about that companions were 
Jeamie’s next pleasure; for every Satoday 
through the month of May, the car was sent 
over for the twins and little Margaret, and 
that meant a day of fun for the children and 
a blessed day of peace and quiet for weary lit- 
tle Mrs. Johnson. 

“ I see what you mean now, Mama,” Jeanne 
said at the end of one of the gala days, “ by 
liking to share what you have with those less 
fortunate.” 

“ What do you mean, dear? ” Mrs. Staf- 
ford stopped brushing her hair to listen. 

‘‘ Oh, Mama, my dear, did I not see a tre- 
mendous basket filled with chickens and vege- 
tables and other good things depart in the car 
this morning? And did I not see the same 
basket arrive back home all empty? You are 
good, Mama, and I love you. Those Ameri- 
can twin boys are nice but they are funny too, 
is it not so? ” 

“ A little,” Mrs. Stafford admitted. 


228 


yeanne 

“ I shall teach them some manners, I think,” 
Jeanne confided in her wise old little way. 
“ Plarry is not so bum at it ” 

“Jeanne!” Mrs. Stafford remonstrated, 
and Jeanne giggled. 

“ I so love to make you jump. Mama. I 
will not say such things, truly, before your 
friends, but now and then it — rests my 
tongue,” she explained quaintly. “ As I was 
saying, Harry's manners are beginning to ap- 
pear, but Steve ! ” She threw up her hands in 
dismay. “ Steve gets my goat,” she ended. 


CHAPTER XX 


A SPEECH AND A STORM 

“ What is it, cheiie? Your face is all 
twisted into trouble-wrinkles. Have I then 
been naughty? ” 

J eanne, lazily lying in the big couch on the 
screened-in porch, thrust one slender foot to 
the floor to start swinging. Her hands were 
tucked under her cheek and her big eyes rested 
on her beloved American Mama. 

“No, my dear. You never trouble me. 

But ” she sighed. “ It’s the war, dear. 

I can’t forget it. We seem to do so little.” 

Jeanne’s face instantly became sad and old. 

“It is true. Mama. We do nothing. And 
the war goes on and on. And nothing gets 
any better. I wish, too, that we might hear 
from Dr. Jack. He has been so long now at 
the front, so long. Six weeks, it is.” 

At this moment Mrs. Stafford was startled 
to see a blue-uniformed messenger boy coming 
up the long walk to the front door. Jeanne 
from her couch could not see him, so Mrs. 

229 


230 Jeanne 

Stafford rose quietly, laid her sewing on the 
table, and went into the big living-room to re- 
ceive the telegram at the front door. With 
trembling fingers she tore it open. 

“ Jack slightly wounded. Will send further 
news when it comes. Alice Kent.” 

In silence she made her way back to the 
porch again, sat down and picked up her work. 
Except for a slight compression of her lips she 
showed no sign of emotion. 

‘'And the war is coming closer to us all the 
time, girlie,” she took up the conversation 
where they had dropped it. “ It will not be 
long before the United States is in it. Did 
you ever think, my dear, that your good friend 
Dr. Jack is in constant danger? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Mama,” Jeanne replied softly. 
“ So often. At night as I look up at the stars 
I ask le hon Dieu to guard him, and it helps me 
to sleep. Even so,” — her eyes became sud- 
denly intense and black as memories came back 
to her, — “ even so I cannot keep back the fear 
always. He is there — in the noise and the 
hurt — ^and — he cannot escape forever. No 
one can. I wish he would write,” 


A Speech and a Storm 231 

" I have just had word from him, Jeanne, 
From his mother, I mean.” 

Jeanne’s hand snatched the yellow slip that 
Mrs. Stafford held out and her eyes devoured 
it before her mother could finish. 

“ It is not so bad news as it might be,” she 
breathed. “ I think it is good news. He will 
be back of the lines for a time. I hope, a long 
time.” 

“ Some day you must meet Aunt Alice and 
her daughter Beatrice,” her mother said, 
changing the subject to drive the old look from 
Jeanne’s face. ‘‘ Beatrice was named after 
me and she is — why, she must be exactly your 
age.” 

“ Oh, I should love to meet them both. But 
Montana is a long way from here, is it not so? ” 

“ Yes.” Across Mrs. Stafford’s face went a 
contemplative look that suddenly sharpened 
into decision, but she put the thought from her 
for the present and went on; 

‘‘ Beatrice doesn’t look a bit like Jack. She 
has thick, straight black hair, big black eyes 
snapping with fun, and cheeks like apples. 
She is a great tomboy and rides her horse like 
a real ranchman.” 


232 yeanne 

Jeanne was listening eagerly, and in the in- 
terest of Mrs. Stafford’s words the “ war- 
look,” as her mother phrased it, faded. For 
some little time they continued to talk of Mon- 
tana and Aunt Alice and Beatrice, and her lit- 
tle brother Jim. Then of a sudden Jeanne re- 
verted to the original subject. 

“You do not bring home so many dresses 
for me to embroider. Mother,” she was trying 
to remember to use the English word, for to 
her it sounded “ more full of soft and love.” 
“ Why is it? ” she asked. 

“ That’s the main thing that distresses me, 
Jeanne. Our Red Cross rooms are no longer 
full as they were in the first burst of enthusi- 
asm. It may be the hot weather, but even so 
we should not let that bother. These things 
are needed sadly. As chairman I should do 
something to stir up interest again and I’ve 
telephoned and pleaded but it seems to do no 
good.” 

“ Mama, Mother.” Jeanne suddenly sat 
up. “ It may be that if they saw a real refu- 
gee — all worn and dirty and unclothed as I 
was — something might waken in their hearts 
that would set their fingers to flying again.” 


A Speech and a Storm 233 

“ You mean — you? ” Mrs. Stafford re- 
garded her thoughtfully. “ It might be that 
you are right, J eanne. I believe you are. You 
would not mind at all — the old clothes and 
speaking before a room full? ” 

“No,” Jeanne cried eagerly. If it will 
help to make them work and send, and work 
and send, I will do it. What shall I say. 
Mother? ” 

“ Tell them all you have told me, dear, about 
your life in the relief camp from the time you 
first entered it until the day you were all sent 
forth.” 

Purposely Mrs. Stafford refrained from 
asking her to tell of her first few weeks’ experi- 
ence in the war zone. She had seen it set little 
Jeanne to trembling and she had seen her eyes 
grow needle-like as she recalled the coming of 
the Germans and the following horrors. It 
seemed to start her coughing, too, and all these 
things Mrs. Stafford wished to shield her from. 
For that reason she had met very, very few of 
the eager and inquisitive townspeople, and for 
that reason Mrs. Stafford was reluctant to let 
her speak at the Red Cross meeting. But 
Jeanne prevailed upon her, so a date was set, 


234 Jeanne 

special notices were sent out, and the time for 
Jeanne’s speech arrived. 

During the first part of the meeting when 
business was transacted, Jeanne sat on the 
platform beside her mother at the desk. Very 
sweet and dainty and girlish she looked, in im- 
maculate white. Her hair had never shone 
more like gold and her coloring had never been 
more exquisite. It was the first real look any- 
one had had of her, and she was devoured by 
eyes. Of this, however, she was totally uncon- 
scious. She was listening to her mother’s low 
voice answering questions, giving directions, 
and at last making an earnest plea for more 
workers and more work. As she began this 
Jeanne suddenly stepped from the stage to a 
small dressing-room at one side. It did not 
take her long to slip into the old familiar gar- 
ments, washed, to be sure, but still stained, 
torn, ragged. She shuddered as she put them 
on, and over her swept the flooding memories 
of the days in France when she had worn these. 
Mechanically she pulled the cap over her bright 
curls, smeared her face and hands and arms 
with dirt and stove blacking, just as though she 
were doing it again in her beautiful home in 


A Speech and a Storm 235 

Bellebois, with the tramp of German feet com- 
ing down the street and her mother’s voice 
ringing in her ears. 

When Mrs. Stafford came to the door and 
asked quietly, “Are you ready, dear? ” Jeanne 
walked past her without a word and straight 
to the edge of the platform. With both 
hands out, her heart crowded full, and her 
big eyes fixed on the wall at the far end 
of the room, she addressed her startled au- 
dience. 

“ It is thus Mama dressed me when we heard 
the Germans were coming. I hated it — to 
bum my so pretty clothes and get into these — 
but Mama said it was better so. And she was 
right. Because I was little and ugly I was 
left alone and Grandmere and I stayed in 
safety in the garden. But Mama — poor — 

Mama ” Her face worked a little as she 

went on steadily telling how she had seen her 
mother work that night. 

“And when we stooped over her in the dark 
— Grandmere and I — she was lying white and 
dead.” Jeanne’s voice was hard witli hate 
and repressed emotion. “ Then we had to 
hurry back to the cellar and that dirty wet 


236 ’Jeanne 

closet. It was dark and cold and we were 
sorry and afraid, but that mattered to no 
one.” 

Her audience hardly breathed and the dra- 
matic little figure went on, her eyes still fixed 
on that distant spot on the far wall. She made 
these people hear the house falling down about 
their ears, carried them with her through the 
days of labor when she struggled to make a 
way out of the ruins ; they starved with her and 
Madame Dupigny and Grandmere through 
the weeks they lived on potato stew and snail 
soup and water; and they sighed like one per- 
son when the Germans marched back again — 
and passed in retreat. 

Jeanne’s hands dropped. A weary little 
smile chased itself over her face. Her figure 
relaxed a little as she took those amazed and 
wondering people to the relief camp where so 
much was done for the refugees and yet so lit- 
tle resultant good felt. Because she was the 
living picture of that which she was telling 
them; because she was so eager to stir the 
hearts of these Americans, she gave her mes- 
sage as no one else could. Her story of the 
Christmas tree brought sobs to the surface and 


A Speech and a Storm 237 

many, many mothers wiped their eyes as 
Jeanne said: 

“ Did you ever see a baby not smile? Well, 
I saw three hundred not smile for weeks and 
weeks. I played with them. I sang to them. 
All did no good. But on that Noel’s day with 
my two little bits of chocolate and my bright 
Christmas tree, I coaxed a vaiiy leetle smile to 
the so sad faces of all those grown-up enfants. 
It was gone in a second — never to come again 
— but while it was there the heavens were 
opened. 

“ Oh, my good friends ! It was wonderful 
to make those enfants smile. Can you not be- 
lieve it? And I am sure, oh so sure, that the 
very many dresses with their spots of happy 
color, and the clean other clothes and the shoes 
you are all to send, will make that so precious 
smile come to stay.” 

She paused, then took a step forward. 

“ You see me — in my rags and my dirt. Do 
you know? I was clean and warm and beauti- 
ful next to some of those others. I always had 
much because of my wonderful American 
Mama. These that I have on were much. Do 
you understand? There were very many bare- 


238 yeanne 

foot on that Noel’s day with their feet all blue 
with cold and red with blood. There were 
many with no coats to hug them warm. So 
they used their thin little arms and tried to 
keep the wind from blowing through them. It 
would be sweet,” she ended, “ if you could 
make believe to adopt some little girl like me, 
and keep her as Mama kept me, clothed and 
fed and — best thing of all — warm in her heart. 
The warmness in the heart keeps a smile there, 
even if it does not always creep out to the 
face.” 

So ended Jeanne’s speech, and as she made 
her way to the dressing-room again, there was 
absolute silence. It was at last broken by a 
smothered sob, then the stirrings of a people 
too moved to speak. And from that day on, it 
was never necessary for Mrs. Stafford to plead 
again for workers. 

It was the day after Jeanne’s first public 
speech — the last Saturday in May — and the 
Johnson twins, with little Margaret, were at 
Mrs. Stafford’s beautiful home for the day. 

“ Now what shall we do? ” Jeanne asked, 
playing hostess prettily. They were all on the 
screened veranda, the twins tumbling in the 


A Speech and a Storm 239 

swing, preparatory to a pillow fight; Margaret 
wandering happily about, shyly smelling flow- 
ers and peeping at magazines; Jeanne in a 
chair. Mrs. Stafford had just left them to go 
to New York for the day. 

“ Well, don’t let’s stay cooped up in this 
place forever,” Steve said. “ Got a baseball? ” 

“Oh, I know!” Jeanne cried suddenly. 
“It is something quite new. Mother had it 
put up this morning. Come! I will show 
you! ” 

She darted out through the door in her light 
butterfly way and led the way across the 
smooth green velvet lawn to a shaded spot on 
the edge of a stretch of woods. 

“Here!” she cried. “Tether ball! Did 
you ever play it? ” 

Both boys looked stupidly at the pole, from 
the top of which hung a tennis ball on a long 
string, and shook their heads. But Jeanne, 
like a flash, thrust a racquet into Steve’s brands 
and placed him facing her a few feet from the 
pole. Then she caught the ball and with a 
swift swing of the racquet sent it spinning 
about in a circle, winding it up. 

“Hit it! Steve! Vite! Do not let it twist 


240 


yeanne 

altogether up ! It is for you to unwind. Ah ! 
That is it! Now see! I hit again! It winds 
again. Now you — hurry! ” 

Soon they were breathless with the heat of 
the game. Jeanne exhibited a dexterity and 
strength with her handling of the racquet that 
called out Steve’s utmost skill. But he was 
taller and could send the ball above Jeanne’s 
head, so finally it was he who wound the ball 
tight about the pole and won the game. 

“That’s good fun!” Steve said. “Come 
on, Harry! I’ll lick you ! ” 

Jeanne, flushed and bright-eyed with her ex- 
ercise, handed over her racquet and dropped on 
the gi'ound beside Margaret. 

“You must try, cherief' she said, putting 
her arm about the shy little girl. 

Margaret smiled contentedly but she was 
happier to sit and watch the others and pick 
violets than play. At last the ball snapped off 
the string and went bounding away in the 
woods behind them, and the boys tore into the 
shady place after it. 

Jeanne and Margaret followed, but hunt as 
they would, they could not find the ball. They 
wandered farther and farther in their search 



)5(»btj;Vr 


“Shall We Not Then Eat Our Lunch Here?” 




rr • 




. c ' ' ; .. 


Jfv^'w' V-^ '-''^w<'''^«S 


,vw 


b.r 




'4 ^ 


ge«f 


,, ^v. 


K f 


\ff 


# '< 


Jl 


L*- * 


>. 


’ -^y • I't:^ **" 

VP ■Kjtr''*^."; 


*m: 


o* 


V'f. 1 ^ ^ 

tK.W 




Hf'V. 


if^’ 




:f 




A 




l\V. 




m 


u^ 


‘ A 




v;i 


i T^‘'^»^j:i' '* 4^*^ , '’ . n r'uK'^'* ^r.V'V ^ *V 

:'fj£i • • * ■»^o ^ '•iS^P?S|5^ -^A H '«» *' 

-i ,*' 4 10 ’', ' 4 V, ';,< 





a^. r. 








■>i 


VMII 


u\ 


’*w - J- 




- -■»„ '.^a.‘ _ -^ ...^ - , 


A''T» 


A 




->■ 


'jj' * *- 

b#A^;* C ^ 

FrZTT^-a-V * ^ tr 


V 1 


, *v *-^ 


./-.JPH 

ft*.v * •*<(•, JP2_ij4i 


d' » 




f»»’ 






«'»■ 


4 l 1 




V- 


-.JiT » 


>* 


r- V A; 


!-^ V.r. 


L^ 


Vi 




V. 


.'.»v 




\,i 




415 ^ 


1 l ^li 


- 




'T/ . '. 




' tj* ^ 












f*^. 


^i.-:..; -, • 4 ..,-, •. ;SiVi. .lSS--rt' 4 :,r';-“ 





A Speech and a Storm 241 

until at last they came to a beautiful big rock 
flat on top, with steps cut into the side that 
they might climb up. 

“ Oh! Oh! ” Jeanne held down a helping 
hand to Margaret, when she had followed the 
scrambling boys. “ Is it not beautiful here? 
The brook below us, the willow over us, and 
soft moss all about. Shall we not then eat our 
lunch here, nic-pic as you say? ” 

Margaret’s sudden laughter surprised them. 

“ Nic pic! ” she mimicked. “ Ho! I guess 
you mean picnic? ” 

“ So I do. Come, Margaret. You and I 
will go back and ask Katy to put it into boxes 
for us, then we will bring it back. Will you 
boys surely wait here? ” 

The boys, who had spied a deep pool a short 
way up the brook, exchanged glances and 
nodded. 

“ Bet your sweet life we’ll be here,” they 
cried. 

“ Don’t hurry back,” Harry added. 

• Jeanne nodded. 

“You will be hungry when we arrive back. 
So long! ” 

She and Margaret scrambled down the rock 


242 yeanne 

again and along the path toward the Stafford 
estate. It was beautiful in the cool green 
woods and now and then they paused to watch 
a squirrel skitter up a tree and scold at them 
for disturbing his business; or they plucked 
some pretty wood flowers, or leaned over the 
brook to watch the fish dart by. By the time 
they at last reached the house it was noon and 
Katy was ready to scold them. 

“ Ah, now, Katy Mavourneen,” Jeanne 
coaxed, “ you must not cross your face at me 
like that. Mother said we might have a nic- 
pic — ^picnic lunch; did she not tell you so? ” 

“ Niver a worrd,’’ growled Katy, slapping 
down oiled paper and white boxes preparatory 
to tucking away in them piles of white sand- 
wiches. “An’ me wid the table all set.'’ 

“I’ll unset it!” Jeanne cried gaily. “It 
will be no throuble at all, at all! ” 

Katy, somewhat mollified by Jeanne’s in- 
sistent gaiety and funny French brogue, ceased 
her scolding, and by the time the lunch was 
packed away and the thermos bottles filled 
with cold lemonade, she was smiling again. 

J eanne and Margaret found the boys at the 
big rock rubbing their dripping heads vigor- 


A Speech and a Storm 243 

ously with their handkerchiefs. This lofty 
dampness, as it were, and a few undone but- 
tons and half-laced shoes indicated a hasty but 
highly enjoyable swim. 

Jeanne spread a cloth on the flat rock top 
and laid out Katy’s bountiful lunch daintily. 
Steve made a sudden grab and filled both 
hands, whereat Jeanne’s e3^es blazed. 

“ Steve ! ” she cried. And something in her 
tone brought the boy’s eyes to hers in sullen 
reluctance. 

“You will put those back!” Jeanne com- 
manded in tense anger. “You act like 
those pigs of Boches that my Mama waited 
upon! ” 

There was a white silence during which 
Harry watched slyly to see if his “ boob of a 
brother would mind the skirt,” and Margaret 
stared in half fright. At last Steve’s color 
mounted as he laid the sandwiches back on 
their piles. 

“ Don’t you ever call me such a thing again,” 
he growled. 

Jeanne’s sunlight smile chased away her 
dark anger. 

“ Don’t make me, Steve,” she said. Then 


244 Jeanne 

she quickly caught up the pile of sandwiches 
and passed them to Margaret and the twins. 

Every scrap and crumb soon disappeared, 
and Jeanne and Margaret cleaned up the pa- 
pers and rubbish that was left and gave it to 
the boys to bury. 

“There now!” Jeanne sighed contentedly. 
“All is clean. But is it not hot? ” She wiped 
her hot face with her handkerchief that she had 
wet in the pool. 

“ Let’s go in wading,” Harry suggested. 
“ Up the brook as far as it goes.” 

“Ooh!” Jeanne’s little gasp made them 
laugh. “ It would be vairy much fun. Could 
we? ” 

“Why not?” Steve suited his actions to 
his words and in a moment he and Bob were 
knee deep in the water. 

“ Leave your shoes and things here,” Harry 
commanded. “ We’ll come back for ’em.” 

In a minute Jeanne and Margaret, with 
skirts held tight above their knees, were sliding 
their white feet into the delicious cool water 
and following the boys. The bed of the brook 
was sometimes pebbly, sometimes sandy. At 
the pools they had to climb out to the mossy 


A Speech and a Storm 245 

bank starred over with pale flowers and skirt 
them. There were stretches when they could 
leap from flat rock to flat rock, pretending that 
the shallow foamy water was a deep, treacher- 
ous river. Jeanne loved it and in the fun of it 
they did not notice the gradual darkening of 
the woods, until a peal of thunder startled 
them. 

“ Hello!” Steve straightened up and looked 
about. “Gee! It’s black as Egypt. There’s 
a pippin of a storm coming. About face! ” 

“ Couldn’t we go quicker on shore? ” Jeanne 
asked. 

Steve, who had taken command of the expe- 
dition, shook his head. 

“ Nope! Haven’t any idea where the path 
is, and we’d only waste time and maybe get 
lost. Besides there’d be snakes and prickers 
and things. We’ll stick to the brook and hope 
for the best.” 

At his words Margaret began to whimper 
and Harry, with a growl at his thoughtless 
brother, swung her up on his shoulders. 

“ Don’t you worry, kid,” he reassured her. 
“ We’ll be back long before the storm gets 
here.” 


246 yeanne 

Jeanne said no word but followed as swiftly 
as she could the sure-footed boys. Unfortu- 
nately her feet were tender while theirs were 
not, and gradually the distance widened be- 
tween them. Jeanne set her lips and would 
not cry out, though the thunder was constant 
and the lightning a startling streak through 
the black woods. 

“Hey! Jeanne!” Harry called once, 
“ Where are you? Hurry up ! ” 

“ I am all right! ” she answered. “ Just be- 
hind the bend I am. Go on! Get Margaret 
home.” 

Overhead the wind was beginning to rush 
through the woods, bending the mighty trees 
and whipping their branches about like feath- 
ers. The lightning was so vivid that the 
blackness following was blinding and Jeanne 
had to wait until the next flash could light her 
on her way. Her feet were very sore. One 
was bleeding, and she stumbled and struck her 
knee against a sharp rock. The pain of that 
did force a cry from her but the boys were 
by now so far ahead they could not hear her 
above the roar of the wind and the crash of 
thunder. 


A Speech and a Storm 247 

The rock!” Jeanne whispered to herself. 
“ It must have moved itself. Surely I should 
be at the rock by now.” 

There came a terrible bolt of white light- 
ning; a deafening crash of thunder. Jeanne 
tingled all over but before the big tree crashed 
down on her she saw she was at the edge of the 
deep pool where the boys had had their swim, 
and somehow she scrambled up to the bank and 
threw herself flat. In less time than it takes 
to tell it, she was pinned fast under the foliage 
of a huge uprooted tree and the rain was pelt- 
ing down in gray sheets about her. 

It was here that Steve found her. When 
they got to the edge of the woods he had sent 
Harry on to the house with the hysterical little 
Margaret and Steve retraced his steps to find 
J eanne. He halloed mightily but Jeanne’s lit- 
tle cry could not be heard in answer, and when 
he came to the fallen tree he stood still with his 
heart in his mouth. 

“Jeanne! Jeanne!” he cried in horrible 
alarm. “ Jeanne! ” 

“ Here! Steve! Here I am! Way under 
the leaves. Can you help me out? ” 

It did not take Steve long then to locate her. 


248 Jeanne 

and to lift the lighter mass of branches so that 
she could crawl out. 

Then, with the thunder and lightning dying 
in the distance and the rain a faint mist 
through the trees, they faced each other. Both 
were soaked, of course, and Jeanne’s white 
dress was mud covered all down the front 
where she had lain. She was a sorry sight, but 
Steve hardly heeded that. It was her eyes, 
her big brown eyes so serenely regarding him, 
that surprised him. 

“ You weren’t scared a bit,” he said in a 
wondering tone. 

“ But no,” Jeanne said simply. 

Steve could find no words for his amaze- 
ment. In utter silence they started the rest of 
the way toward home, pausing to gather the 
soaked shoes and stockings that were still 
tucked away at the base of the big rock. 

At the edge of the woods he spoke again. 

" Say!” 

‘‘Yes?” 

“ Are you hurt? ” 

J eanne laughed merrily. 

“ You nearly forgot that, did you not? No, 
I am not hurt and I nearly forgot to thank you 


A Speech and a Storm 249 

for coming back for me. I do not like to lie 
in the mud.” She shivered a little. “ I have 
done it so much.” 

“ You’re all right,” Steve grunted, voicing 
his admiration with difficulty. 

“And you ” Jeanne turned toward 

him swiftly with muddy hands outheld. “ You 
are not like a Boche at all. I should not have 
said that. I beg your pardon. You are an 
American gentleman, helping a lady in dis- 
tress.” 

Steve wanted to growl out “ Rot ! ” but he 
hesitated to hurt her. And that day there was 
born in him a desire to be the “American gen- 
tleman ” she believed him. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE INVITATIONS 

Katy scolded them all while she was drying 
their clothes and helping them into clean warm 
things. Margaret was lost in Jeanne’s dress 
while the boys were decked out in bloomers and 
middy blouses of hers and pranced about in 
foolish fashion, bringing the smiles back to 
Margaret’s white face. 

It was thus that Mrs. Stafford found them 
when she drove back in the late afternoon ; and 
the story, barely told as it was by the children, 
made her catch Jeanne close to her in a spasm 
of fear. When the Johnsons were once again 
dressed in their own clothes, washed and 
pressed by the good Katy, and started in the 
limousine back toward home, Mrs. Stafford sat 
in the big swing with Jeanne cuddled like a 
kitten next her. 

“ Storms and tempests seem to keep coming 
your way, don’t they? ” Mrs. Stafford passed 
260 


The Invitations 251 

her hand over Jeanne’s soft curls praying that 
no more might come across the little girl’s 
path. “ Were you afraid? ” 

“ But, no,” Jeanne replied, her eyes on the 
sunset sky. “ I think,” — she said, finding her 
words slowly — “ I think people are afraid who 
do not feel God near. I feel Him near — al- 
ways. He has always been near since He took 
Mama and Grandmere and I do not fear to 
have Him take me whenever He thinks. Be- 
sides, — I thought how little a thing the thun- 
der was and the lightning, compared to the 
roarings and crashings of guns at the front 
where Doctaire Zhack is. He has it all the 
time — like that. And he is not afraid. I 
wish his mother would write us or he would. 
I wish to know if he is better.” 

“ We’ll hear soon,” Mrs. Stafford said. “ I 
am sure.” 

And they sat in silence for a space watching 
the glowing sky fade to amethyst. At last 
Mrs. Stafford spoke. 

“ I have thought of a plan, my dear, and I 
hope you will like it. You must tell me how 
you feel about it.” 

“ Your plans are always beautiful, Mother.” 


252 ‘Jeanne 

Jeanne reached up a hand to pat her mother’s 
cheek and Mrs. Stafford caught it in a swift 
kiss. 

“ It gets so hot here — so terribly hot in the 
summer,” she began. “ I do not want to keep 
you here. I have a cottage in Vermont on a 
beautiful little lake and I thought I would take 
you and Ivaty up there.” 

Jeanne clapped her hands. 

“ When to go? ” she cried eagerly. 

“ The first of June, next week. Should you 
like that? ” 

“ I like anything,” Jeanne smiled. “Any- 
thing at all, I like.” 

“ Well, that’s only part of my plan,” Mrs. 
Stafford went on. “ The rest is this. It oc- 
curred to me that possibly you might be a bit 
lonely there without any young folks. You’ve 
become so used to seeing the Johnsons every 
week, and I wondered if you would like to give 
a house-party.” 

Jeanne caught her breath. 

“ You mean — just what? ” she asked. 

“ I mean for us both to write to your adopted 
cousin in Montana and your adopted cousin in 
Chicago and your adopted cousin in Massachu- 


T^he Invitations 


253 

getts, and invite them all to spend the summer 
with you in Vermont.” 

“ But — but ” J eanne was rather be- 
wildered. “ Where did I get so many adopted 
cousins? ” 

]\Irs. Stafford laughed and began to explain. 

“ I have two sisters and one brother, and 
they all married. Bee and Carol and Ruth 
are their children, all girls of your age. I 
haven’t seen them in years, and I thought it 
would be a splendid way for us to get ac- 
quainted, and to have a jolly summer to- 
gether.” 

“ Mother! ” Jeanne said solemnly. “Aren’t 
you a fairy dressed up with an invisible magic 
wand? ” 

“ You would like it, then? ” Mrs. Stafford 
asked smiling. 

“ You betcha,” was Jeanne’s fervent re- 
I sponse. “ Now tell me all about them.” 

I I “ Well, Bee, you know, is Dr. Jack’s sis- 

ter, the little horseback rider who lives on a 
ranch in Montana. She was named after me, 
and I haven’t seen her since she was a baby. I 
haven’t even a picture of her, but I am sure she 
is a fine, wholesome little girl.” 


254 


yeanne 

“Beatrice Kent,” said Jeanne softly. “I 
am sure I shall like her. Then tell me of — 
Carol? ” 

“ Carol King,” Mrs. Stafford went on. 
“ She is an only child of wealthy parents. 
Her home is in Chicago. I saw her last year.” 

Jeanne waited eagerly. 

“ She is quite different from Bee, I fancy. 
A city girl would be. She is pretty.” 

“ Is she nice? ” Jeanne asked eagerly. 

“ Everybody is nice,” Mrs. Stafford said. 
“All you have to do is find their special nice- 
ness.” 

“Now tell me about Ruth,” said Jeanne. 

“ Ruth Winfield. I really know very little 
about her, too. I am afraid I’m a disgraceful 
auntie. Ruth is fifteen, — a bit older than the 
rest of you. She is, in fact, the oldest of a big 
family of six. I imagine it will mean a good 
deal to her to come to us for the summer. I 
only hope her mother can spare her. She is a 
great help, of course, with the younger chil- 
dren, but,” — Mrs. Stafford was musing to her- 
self — “ if Ruth is fifteen Anne must be thir- 
teen and can surely do a great deal. Yes, 
Ruth must come.” 


The Invitations 255 

What does she look like? ” Jeanne asked 
eagerly. 

“ Bee is dark, Carol is light and pretty. 
Ruth is medium, I guess. I saw her when she 
was ten and I remember gray eyes and fat 
legs.” 

Jeanne laughed. 

“ Oh, but do you think they can all come? 
she asked. 

“ I think it can be arranged,” Mrs. Stafford 
replied. Plans were swiftly passing through 
her mind as she talked. “ I must write their 
mothers to-night and you shall tuck a note in 
each one to the girls. We will write them to 
be there by the seventh. That will give us a 
day or two to get the cottage cleaned and ready 
for them.” 

“ Now tell me about your cottage,” Jeanne 
begged. 

“ Don’t you want to have anything a sur- 
prise?” Mrs. Stafford laughed. “I could 
show you pictures but wouldn’t you rather 
wait? ” 

Jeanne jumped up. 

“ Wait? No! ” she cried. “ Why wait for 
a good thing if you can get it now? ” 


256 yeanne 

So Mrs. Stafford filled her lap with photo- 
graphs while she went up to her room to write 
the invitations. Jeanne was constantly calling 
up to her a question or an exclamation, but 
her mother refused to give her any satisfac- 
tion. 

“ There are the pictures. Make of them 
what you can. For the rest you must wait.” 

And Jeanne, eager and expectant, studied 
them all. She had not known that Mrs. Staf- 
ford possessed a summer bungalow as well as 
this darling home, but there it was, a low, 
roomy cottage, painted white and set down in 
the midst of a pine grove. From a postal view 
taken from the lake, Jeanne discovered that all 
the cottages were built in a horseshoe, facing 
the lake, their backs to the deep woods. The 
cleared space in the centre was apparently the 
gathering place for good times. There might 
be a tennis court there; certainly there w^ a 
spring under a shaded grape arbor, and ^rthe 
end of the open space, between the first and 
last cottage, was the beach with its diving- 
board and big central boathouse. Mrs. Staf- 
ford’s cottage was apparently at\he centre, at 
the highest point, and a little withdrawn from 


The Invitations 257 

its neighbors because of a brook on one side 
and a grove of chestnut trees on the other. 

It certainly did look delightful. Jeanne, 
with the pictures all about her, fell to dream- 
ing. How wonderful life was ! And how 
lucky she was! Fifteen minutes ago she had 
been thinking a little wistfully that it would be 
nice if she had some neighbors, knew some girls 
her own age. Margaret was a darling, of 
course, but after all, still a bab^, and now, all 
in a twinkle, she would be chumming about 
with three of them. It was hard to tell, but 
she had a feeling that she would like Bee best. 
Because she was Jack’s sister, and there would 
be no awkwardness in the first beginnings of 
conversation. They could immediately start 
with Jack as a common interest. Still, the 
other two did sound interesting. Ruth with 
her big family! What jolly times they must 
all Jiave ! Jeanne, in her loneliness, was a little 
envflils of brothers and sisters. They all had 
them, apparently, except Carol. Well, then, 
that would be a tie of sympathy between them. 
She and Carol, unsistered and unbrothered, 
might pretend jiist for the summer to own each 
other! 


258 yeanne 

Oh! that was an idea. Jeanne, imaginative 
always, dwelt on that idea until her mother s 
voice called down to her. 

“Your notes written yet, darling? Mine 
are all ready to go.” 

Jeanne jumped to her feet, dreams and pic- 
tures tumbling, and dashed to the desk. In a 
few moments she was running lightly up-stairs 
to Mrs. Stafford’s room. 

“ Do you know,” she confided suddenly, “ I 
am so eager — and yet — the least bit afraid. 
Just suppose they shouldn’t like me? ” 

Mrs. Stafford’s arm went about the slight 
little figure and drew her to her lap. 

“ I have no fears on that score,” she said 
with tenderest reassurance. “ I do wonder a 
bit, though, if you will like them.” 

Jeanne’s eyes widened. 

“ Oh, but. Mama! how foolish; of course I 
shall.” 

“ Both of us foolish then,” her mother 
said, kissing her. “ Now bedtime, Jeanne, 
dear.” 

“ Oh, I loved the pictures.” Jeanne flung 
her arms about her mother. “ It does look 
beautiful.” She jumped up and stood a mo- 


T^he Invitations 259 

ment looking at the envelopes, then patted 
them gently. 

“ Good-bye, little messenger birds,” she said. 
“ Fly fast and fly far and bring my cousins 
back on your wings.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


RUTH 

The little town of Larchfield lay breathless 
and still under the first summer heat. The 
great elms that lined the wide, shady street 
scarcely stirred a leaf, and the old-fashioned 
white rambling houses were shielded from the 
shimmering waves of hot air and sun by close- 
shut green blinds. 

The only sounds that broke the stillness were 
the occasional shouts of boys and the postman’s 
shrill whistle. As he came do^vn the avenue 
one door was opened and a girl came out on the 
leaning veranda and sat on the top step. She 
rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in 
her hands and stared listlessly at the dull 
world. 

For to Ruth Winfield the world had always 
been dull. There had always been dishes and 
dusting; always a new baby’s wail; always a 
skimping to make old clothes into new ; always 
the house needing new paint; fresh curtains; 

260 


Ruth 


261 

props under the shaky porch, new gutter pipes 
where the rain burst through holes and made 
big pools in the yard below ; always the strug- 
gle and failure to keep up appearances, and 
the surreptitious helps from well-meaning 
friends whom Ruth longed to scorch with the 
pride that was in her. 

She sighed and watched the postman turn in 
at the next gate. He probably wouldn’t stop 
here. If he did there would only be bills. 
There were always bills. Why couldn’t some- 
thing happen to her as it did to girls in books? 
He was turning in here after all. She held up 
her hand for the three letters he handed her, 
then sat on without glancing do^vn at them. 

“ Ruth!” 

It was her mother’s voice querulous from 
overwork and over-fatigue. She followed her 
voice to the door and stood there flat-figured, 
with hair drawn back in a tight knot, — the 
quickest way, — ^and an apron covering her 
dress. 

“Any mail? You haven’t done the dusting 
yet, and there’s cake to be baked.” 

“ Why can’t Anne dust? She never does a 
thing,” Ruth complained, rising heavily and 


262 


yeanne 

pushing her straight damp hair back ip an ugly 
way from her face. It was a plain face, set- 
tied into dull lines, with only fine gray eyes to 
lift it from commonness. She, too, wore an 
apron which did not conceal her dumpy square 
figure. 

'‘Anne has made all the beds,” her mother 
replied. “And she’s tending baby Ned. She’s 
doing all she can. Hurry now. We’re way 
behind our work. What’s the mail? ” 

“ It’s too hot to work,” Ruth said, moving 
through the door as she handed her mother the 
letters. “ It’s too hot to eat. Who wants 
cake? ” 

She went through the narrow dark hall into 
the kitchen at the back while her mother 
dropped wearily on a chair and glanced at the 
letters in her hand. Two bills, — the doctor’s 
and the plumber’s. They had been sent three 
times. Mrs. Winfield sighed and then glanced 
at the third envelope. From Beatrice Staf- 
ford ! What was she writing about? A twinge 
of bitterness swept over JMrs. Winfield. Why 
was it Bee had always had the luck? More 
education and more money all through life. 
Every time she heard from her, which was 


about once a month, there swept through her 
this same jealousy. It wasn’t fair for some 
people to have all the work and others all the 
fun. Probably there was a check in here. Bee 
always enclosed one, for it was always some- 
body’s birthday, and she never forgot. She 
would tell them to get something for the 
kiddy; then, as though she had forgotten, she 
would later send a real present herself. The 
check always helped pay bills. Mrs. Winfield 
was grateful but she hated it. It was hard al- 
ways to accept. 

She thrust her finger under the flap and 
ripped it open. Yes, there was a check. What 
could be her excuse this time? It was nobody’s 
birthday. She looked at the amount and 
gasped. Then sat up and began reading the 
letter. 

“Dear Grace: 

“ My days have been so full I have not 
had a chance to write you, but to-night I find 
I an hour free. I hope baby Ned is quite over 
I his colic now and the other children are well. 

; “ You remember, of course, my writing you 

I of the unexpected appearance of my little 
j French orphan, Jeanne? Ever since she has 


264 yean 7 te 

been here I have been busy trying to build up 
her strength and health which had undergone 
such abuse. She is now quite a wiry child, 
looking as I would have her, and I am pleased. 
She has, however, a persistent little cough, of 
which she is quite unconscious, which distresses 
me. I have consulted the doctor and he ad- 
vises the hills of Vermont for her for the sum- 
mer. 

“ It is of this I want to write you. It is 
time Jeanne had young companionship. I 
have kept her from the curious people in town 
here, but I do not want to isolate her too com- 
pletely. I conceived the idea of having j^our 
Ruth and Beatrice Kent and Carol King spend 
the summer with us and I hope we can manage 
to arrange it. 

“ I realized, of course, that you cannot spare 
Ruth through the hot months unless you get 
someone to take her place. For that reason I 
am enclosing a check to cover the expenses of a 
maid. It will be a favor to me if you will ac- 
cept it, for I am most eager for Jeanne to meet 
her newly adopted cousins. Doubtless, too, a 
change of air will benefit Ruth. 

“ Please do not feel that Ruth will need an ; 
outlay of new clothes. Lake Sunnapine is a 
most informal place where everyone does as 
she pleases. The girls will probably wear 
bloomers and middys and bathing suits most of 


Ruth 


265 

the time. We want her to come on the seventh 
of June, and I am enclosing her ticket. If 
you will put her on the train at Larchfield, 
there’s only one change, and we will meet her 
at the other end. 

“ Drop me a line if this arrangement is satis- 
factory. Jeanne encloses a note for Ruth. 

“ Lovingly your sister, 

“ Beatrice.^’ 

Mrs. Winfield sat in stunned silence a mo- 
ment, then gradually she began to realize all 
that the letter meant to them. A change of 
scenery, of companions, for Ruth! Mrs. Win- 
field was ambitious and she glowed at the 
thought. Swiftly plans flew through her mind 
for the making of dainty dresses, but these she 
thrust aside until later. And a maid in her 
i kitchen! That would be heavenly. To have 
her dishes and her cooking done for her! It 
, meant a little precious leisure to read, to dress, 

; to chat with the neighbors. Of course Ruth 
was a big help, but Ruth could not be kept at 
I the wheel in the kitchen as a paid helper could. 
Mrs. Winfield had always insisted on her tak- 
;|ing half the afternoon or the evenings for her 
[ friends. 


I 


266 


"Jeanne 

Suddenly she called Ruth. 

“ Can’t come! Got my hands in the cake 
batter!” Ruth shouted back. “What is 
it?” 

Mrs. Winfield hurried to join her daughter 
and at once Ruth saw that something unusual 
was afoot. 

“ What is it? ” she asked, stirred to eager 
curiosity. 

“Aunt Beatrice Stafford wants you to spend 
the summer with her in her cottage in Ver- 
mont.” 

“Wants me!” Ruth’s face was blank at 
the surprise of it. It couldn’t be true. Such 
things only happened to girls in stories. 

“ Yes, and she’s sent a check for me to have 
a maid while you’re gone, and your ticket and 
all.” 

Ruth’s gray eyes widened and became black, 
and color surged up to her sallow face. For 
a second she looked almost handsome. 

“ Honest? Let me see.” She thrust her 
hands under the faucet and wiped them hur- 
riedly on the towel and caught the letter from 
her mother’s hands. Then she read Jeanne’s 
little note. 


Ruth 


267 


Dear Ruth: 

“ I am so very eager to meet my new 
American cousins. I hope you can come. 
Will it not be fun? Mother calls it my house- 
party, and I hope I may give you all a good 
time. 

“ Sincerely, 

“ Jeanne Lanier Stafford.^" 

“ May I go? ” Ruth’s voice vibrated with 
eagerness. 

“ Of Course.” Her mother was brisk. “ Now 
let’s hurry and clean up here and get busy on 
your dresses. You’ve only got a few days to 
get ready.” 

Ruth’s face suddenly fell into the dull lines 
of old. 

“Oh, clothes!” she said. “I forgot. I 
haven’t anything decent. I’d rather not go 
than be laughed at. Jeanne and Carol will 
probably have everything lovely.” 

“ Don’t talk like that any more,” her mother 
said sharply. “ You’re going and you’ll have 
some new clothes. This check is more than 
enough for a maid this summer, and your 
clothes will be as good as Beatrice Kent’s, 
Now fly.” 


268 


yeanne 

So stolid Ruth worked faster than she had 
ever worked before and her thoughts flew 
ahead of her fingers. 

A summer of leisure! No dishes! No beds! 
For, of course, Aunt Bee with all her money 
had servants. There would be swimming and 

boat rides and automobile rides and ! 

Ruth had no imagination and she could not go 
beyond that, but that was enough to content 
her and to fill her thoughts through the next 
five busy days. 

Something was happening in her life and she 
felt like a girl in a book. And, her last night 
at home, as she viewed her few cool, dainty 
dresses, simple and inexpensive, she even per- 
mitted herself to feel like the heroine. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CAROL 

A SHINING black limousine drew up at a big 
brownstone house on one of the most fashion- 
able avenues of Chicago. Out of it stepped a 
slender golden-curled girl dressed in spotless 
white. Behind her followed a French gov- 
erness. 

Carol, with a fling of her pretty head, ran 
ahead of M ile. Lazelle and pushed hard at the 
electric bell at the door. It was opened and 
she dashed in past the butler, only to turn and 
face her follower in a burst of anger. 

“ I will not have you snooping on me all the 
time ! ” she said with a stamp of her foot. “ I 
am sick — sick — sick of you. I shall tell 
Mama and she will send you away ! ” 

The Frenchwoman’s sad, weary face lifted 
into a pathetic smile but she made no answer. 
She would be glad to go. It was intolerable 
here with this overbearing, uncontrolled child. 
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. All her 
269 


ayo ’Jeanne 

telatives were killed in the great war and she 
was floating about like driftwood. 

Carol had disappeared up the stairs and 
flung herself unannounced into her mother’s 
boudoir. 

“ Not so much noise, Carol,” pleaded her 
mother weakly from the bed. “ I have a ter- 
rific headache.” 

“ Well, if you want me to be sweet and quiet 
and good you’ll have to get rid of that French- 
woman. I hate her.” 

“All right,” her mother agreed. “ She shall 
go to-morrow. I’ll tell her so when I feel bet- 
ter. Sit down, Carol, and read my letters to 
me. I can’t see a thing. My head pains so.” 

“Your letters are stupid!” Carol com- 
plained. “ Just everybody asking for money; 
and club announcements and Red Cross no- 
tices.” She rummaged through them in impa- 
tience. “ Oh, here’s one — a fat letter, from 
Aunt Beatrice.” 

“ Oh, read that first,” her mother said. 
“ There’ll be news in it of her adopted French 
orphan. Such a crazy thing for her to do. 
How does she know what she’s getting? 
Jeanne may be the daughter of a jail-bird.” 


Carol 271 

But Caix)! interrupted to begin the letter. 
It was like the one to Mrs. Winfield, except, of 
course, that no check or ticket was enclosed. 
And J eanne’s brief little note was like hers to 
Ruth. At the end Carol paused and across 
her scowling face flitted the first gleam of 
pleasure. 

“ I shall write at once and tell them I would 
love to come,” she announced. “ I’m sick of 
trailing you and Dad to big hotels where some- 
body watches me and dresses me every minute. 
This will be different.” 

“ You want to go? ” her mother asked in 
surprise. “Aunt Beatrice lives very simply. 
Only one maid, and her cottage is very rough. 
You won’t like it, I’m sure.” 

“ I will too,” Carol contradicted flatly. 
“ I’ll like anything that’s different.” 

“ Well, we’ll have to keep Mademoiselle La- 
zelle long enough to travel there with you. 
You can’t go alone and Dad is too busy to 
leave now. Aunt Beatrice says something 
about Beatrice^ Kent joining you here in Chi- 
cago. Do you suppose she’s going all the way 
from Montana to Vermont for the summer? ” 

“ I hope so. I can stand Mademoiselle La- 


272 "Jeanne 

zelle if Beatrice is with us. Then I can talk to 
her and Mademoiselle can sit alone.” 

“ I shall have to telegraph them. Oh, dear! 
I can't think now. Run away, Carol, run 
away. This letter has quite upset me.” Mrs. 
King pressed her slender ringed fingers to her 
eyes and Carol danced from the room. 

She ran down the hall to her room and into 
her chintzed wickered nest. She was afire 
with excitement and she dashed to her closet 
and caught up an armful of clothes to fling 
them on her bed. Then she rang for her trunk, 
and while she waited for it she pulled out hats 
and shoes and slippers, coats and wraps and all 
sorts of beautiful finery. At the mess of 
things on the bed she suddenly sighed help- 
lessly, then imperiously summoned JMademoi- 
selle Lazelle. 

As the black-f rocked woman appeared in the 
doorway Carol flung herself on the window 
seat. 

“ I am going away day after to-morrow,” 
she announced. “ Pack my things.” 

‘‘All of them. Miss Carol? ” Mademoiselle 
Lazelle asked quietly moving toward the bed. 

“ Certainly all of them,” Carol replied 


Carol 


273 

sharply. “ I shall be gone the entire sum- 
mer.” 

Mademoiselle Lazelle asked no questions but 
set to work in silence getting order out of 
chaos. Carol watched her, one slippered foot 
swinging idly as she lay against the heaped-up 
cushions. 

“ Don’t you wonder where I’m going? ” she 
asked at last, bursting with her news. 

“ No,” Mademoiselle Lazelle replied indif- 
ferently. 

“Well, you should!” Carol scolded. 
“ Don’t you even wonder if you’re going with 
me? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I’m going 
to freedom, and you’re not coming.” 

“ Where is that? ” Mademoiselle Lazelle 
asked politely. “ Near here? ” 

“ In Vermont.” Carol’s eagerness overcame 
her rudeness. “ My Aunt Beatrice Stafford 
has asked her three nieces to come spend the 
summer with her. She wanted us to meet the 
French war orphan she’s adopted.” 

Mademoiselle Lazelle was interested at this 
and began to ask questions. Carol told her all 
she knew, which wasn’t much, just the bare 
outline of Jeanne’s story, but Mademoiselle 


274 Jeanne 

Lazelle’s eyes filled with tears as she lis- 
tened. 

“ Poor little lamb,” she said half to herself. 
‘‘I’m glad she’s safe at last. Mrs. Stafford 
must be a lovely woman.” 

“ She’s queer, Mama says, in lots of ways,” 
Carol stated. 

“ Is she your mother’s sister? ” 

“ No; Dad’s. You rumpled that dress aw- 
fully, Ma’m’selle. Take it out and put it in 
again.” 

There was another silence which Carol broke 
suddenly. 

“ You are to take us there — Beatrice Kent 
and myself, — and then we are through with 
you.” 

“ Very well,” Mademoiselle agreed quietly. 
She wanted to add, “ I shall not be sorry.” 
But what was the use? Instead she said; 

“ I shall be glad to see little Jeanne.” 

“ I hope she’s not queer and solemn like 
you,” Carol said, kicking her slipper off. 
“ She won’t be cheerful company for a vaca- 
tion if she is.” 

“ I imagine she will not be as gay as you,” 
Mademoiselle Lazelle suggested, “ having so 


Carol 


275 

recentlj^ lost all her family. It is hard, you 
know,” she suggested. 

“ Yes, I suppose so.” Carol’s tone was un- 
feeling. “ But they’re gone so what’s the use 
of stewing? And she’s here in a lovely place, 
with a lovely lady. I should think it was up to 
her to chirk up and not gloom the whole thing. 
It’s horrid to gloom things,” she said pointedly. 

“ It is,” Mademoiselle Lazelle said as point- 
edly. 

“ I suppose you mean I spoil things,” Carol 
remarked airily. “ Well, maybe I do. But 
you do first. Anyway if Jeanne is a sourball 
I’ll stick to Bee. Mama says she’s probably 
the best of the bunch! ” 

There was another silence and at last Carol 
rose and walked to her dainty desk. She nib- 
bled her pen awhile and then set furiously to 
work. 

‘‘ Dkvr Aunt Beatrice: 

“ Your letter just came this morning. 
I think it will be great to come see you and 
meet Jeanne. I am just sick to death of hotels 
and governesses. Mademoiselle is to bring Bee 
and me to you but after that I’m through with 
her. You can’t imagine looking forward to a 


276 yeanne 

whole summer of playing with girls my own 
age. I’ve never done it. I hope w^e all like 
each other. Mademoiselle is packing my trunk 
now. I’m bringing everything because I 
haven’t any idea what I’ll want. Just think! 
In three days I’ll be on my way ! Give 
Jeanne my love. I hope she won’t be sad and 
solemn. Mademoiselle is and I hate it. All 
her family got killed too. 

“ This is a lovely idea and I’m crazy to 
come. 

“ With love from your niece, 

“ Carol King.” 

“ There! ” she sighed, folding her note and 
tucking it in a white envelope. “ I shall mail 
it now, this minute.” 

And she ran from the room in high glee. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


BEE 

“ Blow the horn, Jimmy,” Mrs. Kent said. 

So the ten-year-old, spindle-legged boy 
seized the horn from its nail on the wall, went 
to the door and blew three long, loud blasts. 

In a few minutes the Kent family began to 
gather for the midday meal. Mr. Kent strode 
quickly into the shed adjoining the kitchen and 
with a cheery word to Jimmy and his mother, 
began washing at the pump. 

“Where’s Beatrice, Dad?” Mrs. Kent 
asked, pulling the big roast out of the oven and 
setting it on the table. 

“ Riding Whiz, I believe,” he answered, as 
he tossed Jim up to his broad shoulders and 
then flipped him in a somersault in the air and 
caught him again in his big brown arms. 
“ She and Whiz are one spirit in two bodies.” 

“ Blow the horn again, Jim. She couldn’t 
have heard. All right, boys. We’ll sit down.” 

277 


278 "Jeanne 

And Mrs. Kent took her place at the end of 
the table while Jim reached for the horn again. 
Just at that moment, however, there was heard 
the thumpety-thump of hoofs on the earth and 
in a second a girl's voice outside the door called 
out: 

“ Beautiful! Whiz! Oh, you're a joy and 
a treasure. Wait a minute, darling. I must 
give you a lump of sugar." 

She flung herself lightly from his bare back, 
dashed into the kitchen, snatched a lump from 
the table and with a flashing smile to the 
family, danced out again to her beloved horse. 

‘‘ There now, sweetheart," she cooed, rub- 
bing her warm brown cheek against his nose. 
“ There now. You wait here for me till I 
finish dinner and those ever — ever — everlast- 
ing dishes, then we'll go off again." 

She patted his shining neck an instant with 
her tanned hand, then flashed back into the 
ranch house and dropped beside Jim at the 
table. 

Her father stopped his carving long enough 
to smile at her radiant face. 

“ Where you been, Bee? " he asked. 

“ To the edge of the sky," she replied 


Bee 


279 

quickly, “ and I’m starved.” She attacked her 
plate of meat and mound of potato covered 
with delicious brown gravy, with a vim. 

“ You don’t see it, do you, dear? ” her 
mother asked smiling. 

“ See what? ” asked Bee bewildered. 

Her mother pointed to the letter beside her 
plate and Bee dropped her knife and fork. 

“ A letter! ” she cried. “ The very first I’ve 
ever had! Oh, who can it be from? ” 

She stared at it fascinated without touching 
it, then she seized it and tore it open, turning 
the pages to find the signature. 

“ From Aunt Beatrice,” she said at last, her 
face pink with surprise and excitement. 
“ What’s in it? ” 

“ Suppose you read it and find out, kid,” 
her father suggested. “ Begin at the begin- 
ning, not at the end. You’ll more likely make 
sense of it that way.” 

She made a face at him, then began reading 
it aloud. 

“ Dear Beatrice : 

“ It’s a long time since IVe written to 
my little namesake, the first time, I ^ess. 
But I’ve decided that I want to get acquainted 


28 o 


yeanne 

with you and my other nieces and I’ve thought 
of a wonderful way to do it. 

“ I want very much to have you come spend 
the summer with me in my cottage on Lake 
Sunnapine in Vermont. Do you think your 
mother can spare you? And do you think 
you’d like to leave her for so long a time? 

“ I am asking your cousins, Carol King and 
Ruth Stafford to come too, and you three with 
my little adopted war orphan, Jeanne, about 
whom you have heard so much, should be able 
to have some jolly enough times. 

“ I will enclose a note to your mother beg- 
ging her hard to let you. It will be great fun, 
I think. I want you as early in June as you 
can come, and as late in September as you can 
stay. 

“ Very lovingly, 

“ Aunt BE^miicE.” 

“ Mother! ” Beatrice gasped. Then she sat 
speechless. 

It was the first time she had ever received a 
letter. It was the first time she had ever re- 
ceived an invitation. If she went, it would be 
the first time she had ever left her home on the 
mountain ranch; the first time she had ever 
been on a train and the first time for countless 
other things that she didn’t dream of as yet. 


Bee 


281 


“Phew!” whistled her brother Jimmy. 
“Aren’t you in luck? To go East and see 
Auntie and meet up with relatives. What does 
she say to you, Mother? ” 

Her mother finished reading her enclosed 
note, then, looking at Daddy, she answered: 

“ She tells me that Jeanne, whom she has 
adopted as her own daughter, has been through 
many sad experiences. She’s just Bee’s age 
but she seems much older. Aunt Beatrice 
wants her to know her American cousins and 
she has endorsed a check for your fare. Bee. 
She is very anxious to have you come.” 

“Oh, liiay I, Mother? May I, Dad?” 
Beatrice breathed. “ May I? ” 

“ And leave Whiz? ” her father teased. 

Bee’s face fell. 

“ I’d have to, wouldn’t I? Oh, that’s so, oh 
dear! ” 

She looked doubtfully at her plate, then sud- 
denly at her little brother Jim. His big eyes 
were fastened on her eagerly. 

“ Jimmy,” she said, “ would you take care 
of Whiz for me? ” 

“ Would I? You just bet. Oh, Sis! ” His 
ecstasy was wordless. 


282 


yeanne 

Mr. and Mrs. Kent had been exchanging 
looks and nods in the meantime and when Bee 
turned questioning!}’^ to them, they nodded. 

“ If you want to, girl,” her Daddy said. 
“ But understand one thing, if you go it’s for 
all summer. No weeping and wailing and 
begging to come home. We’ve always said, 
‘ If you begin a thing you must always see it 
through to the finish.’ ” 

Bee nodded solemnly, then in an unusual 
silence she finished her dinner. As soon as the 
rest were through her father excused himself 
and rose to go out to his work. Jim took a 
book and curled up on the doorstep out- 
side, but instead of reading he fastened his 
serious brown eyes on the beautiful black 
horse and hugged his knees in joyous antici- 
pation of the time when Whiz should belong to 
him. 

Mrs. Kent and Bee began scraping and 
stacking the dishes, and as Mrs. Kent washed 
and Bee briskly wiped and put away, they be- 
gan talking of the proposed visit. 

“ How under the sun can I go that distance 
all alone? ” Bee asked. 

“ Your father has to go as far as Chicago 


Bee 283 

on business, dear,” her mother made answer. 
“ He will take you there, where you will meet 
Carol and her governess. With Mademoiselle 
Lazelle to chaperone, you can go the rest of 
the way to Vermont very nicely. Aunt Bee 
says.” 

“ What do you s’pose girls in the East wear, 
Mother? ” Bee asked, reaching for a dry dish 
towel, and glancing down at her khaki bloom- 
ers and middy. 

“ Dresses,” her mother answered, “ and 
shoes, not sneaks or boots.” 

“ And long hair too, I s’pose.” Bee ruffled 
her short, thick, wavy hair that was cut 
“ Dutch.” “ Well,^ I can’t help my hair but 
how about dresses? ” 

“ I’ll have to make you some,” Mrs. Kent 
replied. “ Instanter. You must ride over to 
Bently this afternoon. Bee, and get me — well. 
I’ll make out a list of things. Run along, 
now,” she added, rinsing out the dish-pan and 
hanging it up on a nail over the sink, “ and let 
me think what I’ll want. I’ll blow the horn 
when I’m ready.” 

Bee planted a hasty but vehement kiss on 
her mother’s rosy cheek, patted the dark hair 


284 Jeanne 

so like her own and with a bound was out of 
the house and on Whiz’s back. 

“ ’Bye, Jim. He’ll be all yours pretty 
soon,” she smiled to her young brother. 

Jimmy nodded and watched her speed away 
over the brown plain toward the distant Bears 
Paw Range. 

Bee, on Whiz’s back, lay low along his neck 
and smiled as the wind whistled past her. She 
loved the looks of the treeless, level sweep of 
land, brown and hard and barren to unaccus- 
tomed eyes. SHe loved the snow-capped range 
of mountains seen in the distance. She loved 
the blue of the sky and the sparkling air that 
almost looked white in its clearness. She loved 
the rise and fall of the strong warm body under 
her; but best of all she loved the spot toward 
which she was directing her pony’s lightning 
feet. 

On and on they raced. Bee’s slim, muscular 
body a part of the horse she rode, until sud- 
denly before them rose a peak that from the 
house seemed a part of the distant mountains. 
It was upthrust from the plain as by an in- 
visible hand, and around its base flowed a cool, 
clear stream, disappearing as mysteriously into 


Bee 


285 

the ground as it had begun. Bee guided Whiz 
along this singing little brook until they came 
to a big square rock separated from the moun- 
tain by the water. In the shade of this Bee 
dropped from her horse, leaving him to nibble 
the rich grass while she stretched herself along 
the bank and with one hand trailing in the 
water and her eyes on the restful dark of the 
mountain looming so close beside her, she be- 
gan to talk of herself. 

“ I guess I’ll go,” she decided. “ I know I 
will. Maybe I’ll be homesick — prob’ly mos’ 
likely will. But I guess I can stand it a few 
months. Who’d she say was going beside 
me? ” 

She rolled over on her back, crossed one slim 
ankle on the other, and pulled out the letter 
again. 

“ Carol King and Ruth Winfield. Don’t 
know a thing about any of them ’cept Jeanne 
is French and dear and sad. Carol! Carol! ” 
She wrinkled her dark brows over her snap- 
ping black eyes. “ Imagine my meeting any- 
one that lives in Chicago! And Ruth, she’s 
from a little town somewhere in Vermont or 
Massachusetts or somewhere or other. Whiz, 


286 


yeanne 

I don’t know ’s much about geography as I’d 
oughter,” she confided. “ But never mind. 
That’s a beautiful old mountain,” she ended 
suddenly and dropped her letter to look up at 
it. Its rocky sides were rather beautiful in 
their bareness and the sun glinted on specks in 
the stony parts turning them to diamonds. In 
the crevices clung tiny pines and cedars, their 
roots spreading out like long fingers to clutch 
a firm hold. 

Bee lay so still that a jack-rabbit, white as 
snow, popped out of its hole in the prairie be- 
side her and scampered over the grass and 
dived into another. 

Suddenly through the still air came the 
musical notes of the horn and Bee was in- 
stantly alert. On her feet she whistled for 
Whiz and as he trotted up she leaped upon 
his back before he could stop and with a slap 
of her hand, they were off like an arrow for 
the long, low, unpainted house in the distance. 


CHAPTER XXV 


BEE AND CAROL 

The next week seemed to Bee to flash by 
on wings. Her mother’s spare hours were 
spent whirring at the machine, while Bee took 
it upon herself to do most of the cooking, 
cleaning and dish washing. As the days grew 
fewer for Bee to remain in her beloved home 
it suddenly became very dear to her. The big 
clean kitchen with its shiny black stove; its 
clean oilclothed table ; its nails with the familiar 
hats and whips and horns hanging there; its 
worn spot on the floor at the door; the cool, 
dark-shelved pantry with the rows of pre- 
serves and stacks of spotless white dishes; the 
long, low living-room with its mat rugs and 
plain but comfortable furniture; her own bed- 
room ; her little white new bed and pine 
bureau; the walls with the pictures she had cut 
from magazines tucked up around; — she 
looked at them all with new eyes and suddenly 
knew what home was. It was a place of dear 
287 


288 Jeanne 

familiarity where love filled every nook and 
corner. 

Bee looked at her “ comfy-fat,” rosy mother 
with her heavy hair drawn smoothly up in a 
big heap at the back of her head and her mouth 
pursed crooked with pins. 

“ Mother,” she said suddenly, “ I don’t know 
what I’m going away for.” 

Her mother darted a keen look at her slen- 
der daughter who stood in a carelessly graceful 
attitude, one hand on her hip, one foot on a 
chair rung, a dish towel over her shoulder. 
She was a little too thin and too tanned to be 
beautiful but she was a very vivid little person 
and radiating the joy of life in every motion. 

‘‘ Homesick so soon? ” her mother asked. 

“ No ” — Bee answered slowly, feeling for 
words, “ but — I’m happy here, awfully happy. 
Why should I go? ” 

“ To meet new people — ^new ideas — new ex- 
periences. In that way you will grow.” 

Bee pondered this. Her mother stopped 
her machine, snapped off the thread and pulled 
out the dress. 

“ There, that’s the last. Pull out the bast- 
ings, Beatrice, while I tidy up.” 


Bee and Carol 289 

'When Bee had pulled out the last thread 
she ran up to her room and folded the dress in 
the little trunk that stood open under the win- 
dow. Everything was ready for the start the 
next day. Bee had six new dresses. The 
khaki sailor suit she would travel in, and bro^vn 
low ties and stockings to match. She had a 
red scarf to twist in a bow at her neck and a 
small tan hat with a red quill in it. She even 
had a new pocketbook all her own with a place 
for her ticket, another place for her money, 
still another for her handkerchief — and oh! de- 
licious gi’ownupness ! Still another where a 
tiny mirror was tucked. There was also a 
powder puff, but Bee hadn’t known what that 
fuzzy thing was doing in there, so she had 
promptly thrown it away. 

There were also in the trunk a blue dress, 
a green one, a pink one and a white one for 
best. All were made the same, in one piece, 
with a sailor collar and loose belt, short sleeves 
and big pockets. She had another hat — a 
white washable crush hat; another pair of 
shoes, her beloved “ sneaks,” a suit of bloomers 
and “ middys ” she had insisted upon taking. 
Then there was a pile of plain white under- 


290 yeanne 

wear her mother had deftly made; her Bible; 
her photo book filled with snaps of Whiz, Dad 
and Mother, and the two brothers. 

“ That’s all,” she said, shutting the lid, and 
locking it. Then she strolled over to her rock- 
ing chair where her clothes were spread out 
ready for the next day. 

“ It’ll be fun — fun — fun,” she murmured, 
and then she dashed down for supper. 

After the dishes were done she went out- 
doors. Before her lay the vast plain with the 
great range outlined blackly against the pale 
blue sky. Overhead stars were shining, by the 
million. There could be heard the high, sharp 
bark of cojmtes and now and then the roar of 
a mountain lion was borne faintly over the si- 
lent range. Bee lifted her face to the heavens 
and spread her arms wide. 

“ Oh, I love it here, God,” she whispered. 
‘‘ I love it here. It makes me feel — ^good all 
over,” she ended quaintly. 

She stood a while longer drinking in the 
fresh, mild spring air; then ran lightly to the 
fence where Whiz was corralled for the night. 
He knew her whistle and trotted up to the 
fence to meet her with a welcoming neigh. 


Bee and Carol 291 

“ G^ood-bye, Whiz dearest. Good-bye. 
Jimmy'll take care of you, and you take care 
of Jim." 

She kissed his velvet nose, slipped a sugar 
lump between his lips, and then ran back to 
her room, for the start had to be made at 
dawn. 

The novelty of her first journey was thrill- 
ing from the very start. Bee was used to the 
automobile, but the three hours’ ride on the 
front seat with her Dad to Little Falls where 
they took their first train, seemed to have a 
special significance. She sat there, lips parted 
and cheeks matching the scarlet quill in the 
hat crushed down over her thick, short black 
hair. It seemed to her the mountains had 
never been so imposing; the canyons and 
waterfalls never so magnificent; of course it 
was because Bee was seeing everything more 
intensely, with more wide open eyes. 

The thundering train; the funny sleeping- 
car with its appearing and disappearing beds; 
the dining-car with its fastened tables and 
obliging colored waiters offered Bee the great- 
est amusement. She was fairly bulging over 
with wonderment and her big, bronzed father 


292 yeanne 

was kept busy answering her questions. Best 
of all she loved to sit out on the observation 
platform and see the country unroll before 
her, — miles of treeless desert; miles of wonder- 
ful mountains and miles of brown plains, flat 
and endless as the ocean, miles more of track 
where the train crept along the edge of preci- 
pices, around the foot of towering bluffs ; close 
to the edge of whirling rivers ; then cities where 
people thronged; — until at last they were in 
JMinneapolis. 

There was only a few hours to spare here 
and much of it was spent seeing the big city. 
Bee’s mind was a whirl with all the informa- 
tion her father had given her as he finally 
lifted her for a last hug and then swung off 
the train and left her to finish her long journey 
alone. 

The hours seemed endless. Eating alone 
and thinking alone and sitting alone — there 
was plenty of time for homesickness to get a 
good start, but just as it did Bee was buoyed 
up by their entrance into busy, dirty Chicago. 

It had been arranged that Carol King’s 
mother would meet her — the Aunt Helen 
whom Bee had never seen — then she and Carol 


Bee and Carol 293 

would journey on up to Vermont the next 
week. This would give Beatrice a little time 
to glimpse Chicago. 

Her heart was thumping pretty hard as she 
sat on the edge of her chair the last few miles. 
That morning she had slipped on a fresh blue 
dress, for the khaki was much too soiled to 
wear another day. What would Aunt Helen 
be like? and Carol? Would she know them, — 
or they her? Supposing they missed each 
other and she should be alone in Chicago! 
The thought sent her heart racing, but she had 
no more time to ponder over it for the train 
had stopped and she was soon a small insig- 
nificant person among the pushing crowd. 

Clutching her pocketbook tightly, her eyes 
black as coals under her white hat, she followed 
the porter who carried her bag, — followed him 
helplessly, feeling a sudden new insignificance 
and a smothering fright in her utter aloneness. 

“ Where to. Miss? ” he queried, turning as 
they passed through the gate. 

His assumption that she knew what she was 
about and where she was going restored her 
calm somewhat. 

The information bureau,’’ she replied, and 


294 "Jeanne ^ 

took her eye off him long enough to glance at 
the hurrying throngs around her. In a few 
moments she was left with her suitcase at her 
feet, beside the caged-in desk in the centre of 
a great room. Bee looked hastily around her 
at the people. All were men, except one old 
lady, and one mother with her babies. Neither 
of these could be Aunt Helen. She resolutel}^ 
fought back the panic that almost overwhelmed 5 
her when she thought of the possibility of their 
not meeting. Then she fastened her mind 
sternly on other things and gazed steadily 
around her, — at the people; the ticket office; j 
the news stands; the flower stands; the busy 
officials, — then again and again at the people. |j 
Her eyes must surely pop with looking soon, 
when all of a sudden she was startled by a ;i 
sweet voice close to her. | 

“ This must be Beatrice Kent, isn’t it? ” | 

She whirled with a glad laugh, and both | 
hands out to meet her aunt. She saw a small, | 
little lady, dressed — as Bee vaguely saw — I 
marvellously. Her curly brown hair was so ; 
trim and neat it looked to Bee glued into ’ 
place, and not a solitary wrinkle on her any- I 
where ! , 


Bee and Carol 295 

“Oh! I’m so glad you found me!” she 
cried, returning the kiss of welcome. 

“ And Carol is here too,” Aunt Helen said, 
stepping a little to one side. 

Bee was ready for an enthusiastic rush and 
kiss, but the girl facing her checked it. 

“ How do you do? ” came in a cool tone, 
while she extended a slim, soft hand for Bee 
to shake. “ I’m pleased to meet you.” 

Bee stared. She saw a delicate golden- 
haired, blue-eyed girl her own size, — pretty, 
smiling. But her eyes were not smiling; they 
were cold and critical and travelled over Bee’s 
clothes in a way that somehow seemed to scorch 
Bee. Then the scorch burned through and 
turned to anger and Bee, with her head up, 
ignored Carol and turned to her aunt. 

On the ride up-town in Aunt Helen’s closed 
limousine Bee left Carol quite to herself and 
began answering vivaciously her aunt’s ques- 
tions. Mrs. King, watching interestedly the 
sparkling, animated face in such striking con- 
trast to the cold, disdainful one of her own 
daughter, was puzzled as to how this close com- 
panionship of the two girls was going to work 
out. But she was not accustomed to puzzling 


296 


yeanne 

over problems concerning her daughter and 
finally with a little shrug of her shoulders she 
gave it up. Bee was amusing at any rate. A 
diversion. Carol must learn to laugh, not 
turn up her nose. 

“ And what do you think, Auntie? ” Bee 
was saying. ‘‘ When I wanted to tip the porter 
for carrying my suitcase to the Information 
Bureau, I found I had only two pennies 
and a five-dollar bill. Wasn’t that awful? 
and he’d been so careful of me all the way 
from Chicago! I just didn’t know what to 
do.” 

“ What did you do? ” her aunt asked curi- 
ously. 

Bee looked at her in amazement. 

“Why, I couldn’t give him five dollars! 
mercy! It’s the first one I’ve ever owned and 
it’s got to last me ages — all summer ’most. 
So I gave him the two pennies, and do you 
know? He looked down at his hand as though 
nothing were there at all. Then he dropped 
them and walked away. I hunted all over 
before I found the second one. A little girl 
was standing on it.” 

Bee’s unconscious thrift and care for her 


Bee and Carol 297 

small wealth set Mrs. King to laughing, but 
Carol stared in wide-eyed amazement. 

“ Why did you pick them up? ” she said. 

“ You wouldn’t let your perfectly good 
money roll around on the floor, would you? ” 
Bee demanded. 

“But pennies!” Carol’s scorn was im- 
mense. She turned to the window again, while 
Bee fell to studying her. How beautifully 
she was dressed! In a little suit of pale blue 
silk with a fine silk waist peeping from be- 
neath her coat and a small blue silk hat and 
white socks with black slippers. Bee gasped 
as Carol rose to smooth her dress under her 
and Bee glimpsed a silk petticoat underneath. 
Then her eye travelled to Carol’s hands. She 
had taken off her gloves. Bee had never seen 
such white, white hands in her life, and such 
shiny pink finger nails. She stared fascinated. 
How could she keep them so white? She lifted 
her questioning eyes to Carol’s face and with 
I a shock discovered that to be as white as her 
! hands. 

1 “ What are you looking at? ” Carol de- 

j manded, thrusting out her under lip in a sud- 
denly ugly way. 


298 yeanne 

“ Your whiteness,” Bee returned too ab- 
sorbed to notice the anger of Carol’s tone. “I 
— I — I think it’s beautiful.” 

She put out one tanned hand and touched 
her cousin’s hand gently. Carol shrank away 
from her. 

“ I don’t like to be touched,” she said, but 
this time her tone was gentler for Bee’s admir- 
ation had pleased her. So, with a slight 
feeling of friendliness between them, they 
entered the big brownstone house where Carol 
lived. 

“ Carol, take Bee up to her room,” Mrs. 
King said. “ Show her where the bathroom is, 
so she may wash for dinner.” 

Carol immediately walked up the broad, 
carpeted stairs, and Bee, delaying long enough 
for a bewildered glance at countless rooms fur- 
nished in such luxury as she had never dreamed 
of, ran lightly up after her. Without a word 
the two marched side by side down the hall 
until Carol at last opened a door on the right 
and walked in. 

“ Here’s your room,” she said laconically, 
and was about to leave for her own when Bee’s 
sharp gasp stopped her. 


Bee and Carol 


299 

‘‘ What’s the matter? ” she asked, frowning 
a little. 

“ Matter! ” Bee’s eyes never left the room 
that was to be hers. “ Matter! nothing. It’s 
perfect. Do you mean to say I’m to sleep in 
that bed? ” 

She walked toward the double bed spread 
over with a beautiful lace coverlet. Then on 
tiptoe she moved around the room, touching 
gently the gray stand by the bed which held a 
glass-covered mahogany tray with thermos 
pitcher of ice-water and cut-glass tumbler ; the 
gray bureau with its bewildering array of silver 
articles ; the deep gray wicker chairs with their 
gayly colored cretonne coverings that matched 
the curtains ; and finally she stopped before an 
open door. 

“ What’s this room? ” she asked curiously. 

Carol stared at her. 

“ That’s your bathroom.” Her amazement 
startled her into vehemence. “ My goodness! 
Haven’t you ever seen a bathroom before? ” 

“ Never,” Bee replied. “ What do you do 
here? ” 

Carol came forward and joined Bee at the 
door. Could her cousin be crazy? 


300 


yeanne 

“ What do you wash in at home? ” she de- 
manded at last, seeing that Bee could not take 
her eyes from the tiled white walls and floor, 
the shiny, spotless tub, basin, foot-tub, the 
glass towel racks and polished faucets. 

“We wash in a tin basin at the pump out- 
doors,” Bee explained. “ And once a week we 
fill up the round tin tub in the kitchen with 
hot water from the teakettle and wash us all 
over, standing up, then we have to pour it out 
on the ground.” 

Carol shuddered. 

“ Really? ” she asked. “ Haven’t you ever 
had a bath in a real tub? 

Bee shook her head. 

“ But I’d love to try it here,” she said. 
“ When may I? ” 

“ When may you? ” Carol echoed dazedly. 
Surely Beatrice was crazy. “ Why, I always 
take a bath before I dress for dinner.” 

“ Oh! ” It was Bee’s turn to look amazed. 
“ Every day? ” 

“ Of course,” Carol returned haughtily. 
“ It’s vile not to.” 

She moved slightly away from this queer 
cousin of hers. 


Bee and Carol 


301 

“ Show me how to turn ’em, then, and how 
deep to let it in — ^and I’ll risk it now,” Bee 
laughed, “ though I can’t swim.” 

But Carol turned back. 

“ Hortense is here. She’ll help you. I’m no 
maid,” she replied. ‘‘ Hortense,” she went on 
addressing the maid in a peremptoiy tone, 
“ Miss Beatrice wishes to take a bath. Draw 
her tub for her.” And she swept from the 
room for all the world like a grown-up woman. 

Bee had turned at the words and now added 
a “ please ” and a smile to Carol’s command. 
She hung over the tub as Hortense twirled 
shiny handles and watched it fascinated as it 
filled with hot water. 

When she turned back into her room Hor- 
tense had deftly unpacked her suitcase and 
spread out for her her plain kimono and slip- 
pers. 

“What dress will you wear. Miss?” Hor- 
I tense asked respectfully, 
j “ Oh, I’ll have to put this one on again,” 
i Bee returned. “ That tan one is the only other 
ione I have that’s not in my trunk and that’s 
I too awful.” 

Hortense made no answer but as Bee slipped 


302 Jeanne 

it off to disappear in the bathroom she left the 
bedroom with the mussed blue dress over her 
arm. A few minutes later it was returned, 
beautifully pressed and lay waiting for her 
when she came, rosy and glowing, from her 
bath. I 

“ Now that was nice of her,” Bee commented | 
to herself. “ She mended the hole in my stock- ^ 
ing too. Hurray for Hortense. Maybe she’d 
take the two cents the porter wouldn’t.” 

She hesitated, smiling a little. 

‘‘ Guess I won’t try it, though,” she decided. \ 

At dinner that night Bee found so many ) 
startlingly new things that adjustments — swift ! 
and rapid — were needed to keep her poise. In 
the first place Mrs. King was dressed in an\ 
“ awfully stylish gown ” as Bee termed it.^ 
She could hardly bear to raise her eyes to such^ 
gorgeousness. But Uncle Henry didn’t seem| 
to mind at all. He had on a queer thing too, '* 
a black suit with an all white shirt front, “ Stiff 
as a board and as shiny as a hog’s back.” And 
Carol! Bee felt envy for the first time in her^j 
life. Never had she seen such an exquisiteT 
white lace dress. Bee would have been afraid \ 
of breathing if she had owned it, and a pale 


Bee and Carol 


303 

pink sash, and pink hair ribbon tied in a perky 
bow atop the gleaming curls, and white stock- 
ings and white slippers! 

There was so much to see she couldn’t talk. 
Imagine not eating in the kitchen, but in a big 
dining-room where the table was all covered 
with a white cloth and candlesticks and shiny 
silver and dozens of knives and forks and 
spoons apiece. And there were two maids to 
wait on them. Two! Doing nothing but fill- 
ing them up. 

“ I suppose this is quite different from your 
home, isn’t it, Beatrice?” Aunt Helen asked 
when dessert appeared, watching with interest 
her face across which so many different ex- 
pressions had chased each other, 

“ Oh, yes ! ” Bee’s sigh was a small explo- 
sion. “ Oh, mercy ! yes ! I — I — I couldn’t talk 
before,” she went on, “ and I can’t much now. 
Everything’s so different ! I’ve got the saying 
spirit in me — but I can’t say anything! ” 

Her uncle laughed heartily. 

“ Eat in the kitchen, do you. Bee? ” he 
asked. He was watching Carol’s face with in- 
terest which was showing a steady stare of sur- 
prise at Bee’s nods. “ Off oilcloth? and help 


304 yeanne 

yourselves? and get the gravy hot off the stove 
when you want it? Think this is all bunk? ’’ 
he ended abruptly, waving his hand at the 
elaborate dinner service. 

‘T don’t know what I think,” Bee returned 
frankly, instantly liking Uncle Henry better 
than anybody — ^Aunt Helen next — ^and Carol 
not much at all. “ I never had so many thinks 
to manage all at once. I reckon they won’t get 
straightened out till I’m in bed — flat. 

“ I took a bath,” she confided suddenly. 

“ Did you? ” Uncle Henry returned easily, 
‘‘and how did it feel? ” 

Bee squinted her eyes tight shut and wiggled 
back in her chair in delicious memory. 

“ It felt like satin,” she said, then she opened 
her eyes suddenly. 

“ There are a lot of things I don’t know,” 
she said. “ I never knew there were so many.’ 

“ What don’t you know? ” her uncle encour- 
aged her. 

Bee giggled. 

“ Well, for one thing, I don’t know what to 
do with these forks and spoons in my lap!” 
She piled them up on the table suddenly. 

“ There were so many,” she explained, 


Bee and Carol 305 

rather enjoying Carol’s horrified gaze, ‘‘ and I 
kept taking the wrong one, and here I am in 
this mess! ” 

Mr. and Mrs. King laughed with splendid 
enjoyment of this little girl, but Carol’s nose 
went up disdainfully. 

“ What else don’t you know? ” her uncle 
asked her. 

‘‘ Half of what I’ve eaten. Or how to get 
into bed — I’m scared to touch that spread — 
or what I should have done if Aunt Helen 
hadn’t met me all right. There are some 
things I don’t mind not knowing,” she went 
on — “ like about forks and beds and things. 
But that I did mind. What should I have 
done? ” 

“ What did you think of doing? ” Mr. King 
asked, curiously. 

“ I was going to tell the man at the desk 
your name and ask him your address and how 
to get there.” 

“ Well, that was a good beginning,” he an- 
swered. “ Now how about the theatre ; are you 
too tired to go? ” 

“ I’m never too tired for anything,” Bee re- 
joined, “ but what’s a theatre? ” 


3 o 6 Jeanne 

“ Father! ” Carol cried. ‘‘ Did you ever? ” 

Bee was getting a little tired of Carol’s su- 
perior air. Suddenly her cheeks blazed and 
her eyes. 

“ Did you ever? ” she mimicked. “ Well, 
did you ever? Did you ever ride a horse bare- 
back? Or go hunting for antelope? Or see a 
round-up of cattle? Or shoot duck? Did 
you? ” 

“ No, and I never took a bath in a tin tub 
and I never want to do any of those things,” 
Carol retorted. “ I like my way of living bet- 
ter.” 

The first disagreement was ended suddenly 
by the arrival of the limousine. That evening 
was filled with bewildering sights for Bee — 
the crowded streets, the noise, the lights, the 
closeness of everything, and everybody. It set 
her gasping for breath a bit, and left her 
speechless. But when she was in the box at the 
theatre, she steadied again and stared with both 
her big black eyes at the beautifully dressed 
people; the orchestra and the actors. 

That evening was only the beginning of 
novel experiences for Bee. Her uncle and she 
had become such pals that he appeared some 


Bee and Carol 307 

time each day with a new surprise and spree 
for her to enjoy. Sometimes all four of them 
went, but usually just the two of them — for 
Carol did not care for sight-seeing tours, they 
made her tired, and Mrs. King had other en- 
gagements. Bee was too thrilled and excited 
to be homesick, and the days sped by all too 
soon. 

On their last night in the brownstone house. 
Bee and Carol lay each in her own bed in 
the darkness. Many rooms separated them, 
but their thoughts were almost the same. 

Bee thought: “ It’s interesting — going 
places and meeting people. But honestly, if 
I thought Ruth and Jeanne could possibly be 
as horrid as Carol is most of the time, I’d 
rather go home. But that is quitting, and im- 
possible anyway. And there’s always the 
chance that they’ll be heaps nicer — and that 
Carol will too, after I know her.” 

Carol thought: “ If I could know that 
Jeanne and Ruth would be as — as — impossible 
as Bee, I wouldn’t stir one step. But they 
can’t possibly be. Ruth lives in the civilized 
East, at any rate, and Jeanne has travelled. 
Anyway I’ve said I’d go and I can’t have 


3 o 8 ^Jeanne 

Mother and Dad laughing at me. No, I’ll go, 
— I’ll stick it through, because, after all, any- 
thing is better than another deadly summer 
trailing behind Mother with Ma’m’selle trail- 
ing behind me I ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


LETTERS AND OLD FRIENDS 

There was one tiling Jeanne wanted to do 
that last week before they left for the lake. 
She had written to the Applegates soon after 
reaching her real home in America with Mrs. 
Stafford and had received an odd little note 
very apparently written with difficulty by an 
unpractised hand. 

“ I should feel better, Mother, if I could go 
see them with you and explain to their faces. 
Because they were so good to me, and I did 
disappear so suddenly.” 

So, one day toward the end of May, Jean 
and her mother in their beautiful limousine 
swept into the dirty feathered yard of the Ap- 
plegates, stirring the chickens to frantic flight; 
the sleepy cat to a sudden flashing exit. 
Jeanne, laughing aloud in her excitement and 
pleasure, jumped from the car and ran toward 
the little bent figure that was peering at them 
from the porch with her bright birdlike eyes. 

309 


310 


eanne 

“Mrs. Applegate! Oh! Mrs. Applegate! 
Don’t you know me? Please know me! I’m ^ 

Joe! the little boy you were so good to ” ; 

“Lan’sakes!” 1 

For as much as a moment Mrs. Applegate 
was speechless, but when the first astonishment 
was over floodgates were loosed. Mrs. Staf- 
ford, entering smilingly, seated herself in the 
bright kitchen, with an amused exchange of 
glances with Jeanne, while little Mrs. Apple- 
gate fluttering and swooping about the place, 
poured out all the amazement and the grief § 
she and her husband had endured together; 'I 
their various conjectures; their joy when the 
note came; and finally their efforts to answer 
it appropriately. 

“But Ian’ sakes! I never was shucks at 
writin’. Too slow. But let me talk now, and 
somethin’ gets said. My! my! ain’t you too 
prutty? Nope, I never would ha’ knowed you. 
Never in all this world. Jest your voice, thet’s | 
all. Jest your voice, to tell me I’m not dreamin’ % 
all this? Where is Henry? He’d ou’ter be here. ^ 
Jest stepped out to the barn. Henry! — 

Henry ! I dunno. Men is slippery customers. 

Say they be goin’ one place and you find ’em f 


Letters and Old Friends 311 

another. Like’s not he’s gone out t’ the potato 
field. But you can stay? Sure you’ll stay and 
eat a bite o’ supper with us. Hemy’ll be in 
for that, you may be sure. That’s fine, 
then — — ” 

And on and on. Even when she stopped to 
ask a question she finished answering it for 
them. But Jeanne and her mother found 
pleasure in their visit and the little girl watched 
in admiration the grace with which Mrs. Staf- 
ford fitted into her surroundings. It came, 
Jeanne decided, from her feeling perfectly at 
ease herself. In that way her tranquillity was 
transferred to the fussy bird of a woman who 
soon ceased her apologies for the simple fare 
and settled down to a genuine enjoj^ment of a 
situation that would be mental food and drink 
to her for months. 

At five o’clock they stood, old Henry and 
his wife, waving at the car until the last bit of 
dust had settled into the road again, and 
Jeanne kept her white hand fluttering until 
she had lost sight of them. 

“ They were darlings, weren’t they? ” she 
asked. 

Mrs. Stafford smiled acquiescence. 


312 "Jeanne 

“ Very like the dear, genuine folks you will 
find living in the little town of Sunnapine/’’ 
she answered. 

This jerked Jeanne’s thoughts about at once* 
Would there be letters waiting when they got 
home? Any replies from the cousins? With 
a bounce on her seat she hoped so. 

But there were not. Jeanne was disap- 
pointed but she could of course live until the 
postman’s whistle sounded the next morning. 
She could manage that because she would be 
asleep most of the long wait ! 

“ Here comes the postman ! Here comes the 
postman ! ” 

Jeanne shouted it joj^'fully to her mother as 
she ran down to open the great Dutch door 
the next day. In her excitement she could 
only loosen the top half and the postman 
smiled at the pretty picture she made, with her 
eager, vivid face above the door as she 
stretched out both hands for the letters. 

“ You have something for me, monsieur le 
postman, I have hope? ” she questioned. 

He nodded smilingly. It was hard not to 
smile at Jeanne’s eager, sunny face. 


3^3 


Letters and Old Friends 

“ Two, I believe.” 

“ Ah. It is joyousness, mercif* 

She was off again and up to Mama’s pretty 
room where the last packing was in process. 
Mrs. Stafford looked up from the trunk before 
which she knelt with an array of endless little 
things about her in confusion. 

“ Now, Mama, I will read while you listen. 
This came from Ruth: 

“ ‘ Dear Aunt Bee and Jeanne: 

“ ‘ I feel a little bit as though I were 
living in fairyland these days, since your won- 
derful letter came. It seems too good to be 
true that I am to go away for a whole summer. 
Sometimes it doesn’t seem right, when the rest 
of my family have to stay in this hot hole, but 
if Mother can get a maid, I’m sure I shan’t 
mind going. 

“ ‘ We’ve been so busy making dresses I 
haven’t had time to write you until now. I do 
hope I will have things that look as nice ajs the 
other girls’. They seem awfully pretty to me 
now. 

“ ‘ I can’t seem to say things the way I want 
to, but please believe I am just crazy to 
come and awfully eager to meet you, Jeanne. 
Your experiences are like those in a book. 

“ ‘ I will take the morning train from Larch- 


314 ytanne 

field which reaches Sunnapine at 4:10 in the 
afternoon. Shall I look for you, Aunt Bee? 

“ ‘ With many, many thanks to you, dear 
aunt, and my love to J eanne, I am 
“ ‘ Your cousin and niece, 

“ ‘ Ruth Winfield.’ 

“ Well! ” Jeanne drew a long breath; “ that 
sounds nice, doesn’t it? ” 

“ Very sweet.” Mrs. Stafford had read the 
unsaid things between the lines and knew that 
Ruth was choking with appreciation of this 
vacation but her reserve and pride rendered 
her unable to express herself. “ I think the 
house-party will mean more to Ruth than 
either of the other girls.” 

“ What will we do all summer. Mother 
cherie? ” Jeanne asked. 

“Do? Mercy!” Mrs. Stafford attacked 
the formidable pile again. “ Swim and walk 
and dance and row and play tennis and climb 
and go blackberrying and ” 

J eanne was leaning forward eagerly, cheeks 
flushed and eyes bright. 

“ I wonder if any of the girls can swim. I 
can’t, but I must learn. I’ll miss Harry and 
Steve, because, you know I like boys.” 


Letters and Old Friends 315 

Her mother’s glance met Jeanne’s honest 
one at this confession. 

“ Of course you do. All girls do. And 
Harry and Steve are fine fellows but they’ll 
be here when you get back. In the meantime 
there are others in the United States and you 
may find some of them at the lake.” 

“ Oh, I am forgetting! ” Jeanne caught up 
her other letter. “ This is to you, from Carol, 
I guess. It is marked Chicago.” 

“ Open it, dear.” 

So Jeanne read Carol’s note aloud, flush- 
ing as she read. At the end she flung it on 
the floor and her anger blazed out. 

“ What a horrid girl! ” she cried. “ I do not 
like that letter at all. Mama. I have fear that 
I shall not like Carol.” 

Mrs. Stafford continued packing quietly 
until Jeanne’s breathing became quieter. 
Then a penitent voice broke the silence. 

“ Pardon, please.” 

“ Certainly.” Mrs, Stafford rose from her 
knees and moved to her bureau. ‘‘ I didn’t 
like the letter either, but I happen to know 
that Carol hasn’t had the advantages that you 
and Ruth and Bee have had.” 


31 6 "Jeanne 

“Hasn’t had advantages?” Jeanne was 
bewildered. “ But she is rich.” 

“ Still she hasn’t had the advantages you 
others have had,” Mrs. Stafford repeated 
firmly. “ It’s an advantage to have a large 
family as Ruth has, you know. It gives one 
an opportunity for learning self-control and 
consideration. An only child of wealthy par- 
ents cannot learn those things unless she is very 
wisely brought up, and that’s where Bee has 
had the advantage over Carol. Bee has had 
a wonderfully wise mother, and I fear Carol 
has not, partly, — no, mostly — because Mrs. 
King’s health has been poor. And your ad- 
vantage over Carol, my dear, is the richness 
of your experiences.” 

“ Oh,” said Jeanne slowly, “ I think I see. 
Then — this letter of Carol’s, so almost rude, 
should make me sorry, not angry.” 

Mrs. Stafford nodded. “And Jeanne.” 

“ Yes, Mother? ” 

“ If Carol can begin to realize at all the suf- 
fering you have beheld, she will be a splendid 
one to help, for she has money. Perhaps that 
may be your share in the war work, to persuade 
Carol to see how she must give aid.” 


Letters and Old Friends 317 

Jeanne’s face was quite sober. 

“ Mother, I think you are wonderful. You 
know, some people see with their minds as 
though they looked straight along a narrow 
road that was so hemmed in by trees that it 
could not glimpse to right nor left, and others 
see with their minds as though they looked over 
open country, big and broad, where there is 
no end to beauty till the sky is touched. You 
see like that.” ■ - • ^ i 

“ Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Stafford was 
surprised at Jeanne’s vision and expression. 

“ Is that the door-bell? ” 

Oui, yes. Shall I go? Katy is out.” 

“ Please, dear, I can come down in a few 
moments.” 

Jeanne ran lightly down the stairs and 
struggled once again with the refractory latch, 
and again it refused to yield, so she swung the 
upper half of the door open and poked her 
pretty face over. 

“ I am so stupid — ^not to be able to open 
this door — but — why — Monsieur Kelly? Is it 
you? ” 

‘‘ It surely is. Miss Jeanne. But I say, this 
is mean! All I can see is your face and that’s 


3 i 8 yeanne 

just enough to make me want to see some 
more.’’ 

Jeanne shook her finger at him. 

‘‘Monsieur Kelly! I am equal with you 
now. Not for nothing have I spent months 
listening to Katy’s good blarney! You can 
no longer tease me so. If you desire to enter, 
you must then climb over!” she challenged 
him gaily. 

' In a second the big fellow had swung him- 
self over the door just as Mrs. Stafford came 
down the stairs. 

“ Mr. Kelly, this is good of you.” She gave 
him a warm hand-clasp while her eyes swiftly 
searched his honest, ruddy face. She found 
something to like there, from its merry blue 
eyes under the undeniable red hair, to his broad 
smile. 

“ I had to make sure my little lady was safe, 
Mrs. Stafford,” he replied. “ I felt that she 
was a good bit my special charge.” 

“ You had reason,” Jeanne said quickly. 

“Jove! but you’re looldng trim and well- 
rigged,” he burst out, openly admiring while 
Mrs. Stafford, with an arm about Jeanne, led 
them to the veranda. 





“ You’re Looking Trim and Well Rigged ” 




>» 




' ' • ’ ' s ^ 

■ ? T * 

^•U . 


t 


•- - 


» « 


■ * 


V .' ■‘ 




r I 


. %A 



/ 


* *1 




. M ’ 


. V 


/• 




>» 


• * 

.» 




« 


V^- 


» - V. 






» 




» 


. . ;/< 



i * 




. ♦ 


\ 


»' • 




, / ■^. ■ 


• . 




;< 




HC ,. • 



1" 


.f 


j* 


.' .♦. r ii'A ■.'*</ 

» 


• • 




Letters and Old Friends 319 

“Like your ship, not so?” Jeanne queried 
demurely. She spread her skirts. “ All sails 
set now,” she added. 

Tom Kelly was swift to place a chair for 
Mrs. Stafford and then remained standing 
while he blurted out his little speech in his 
blunt way. 

“ Mrs. Stafford, you don’t know a thing 
about me, and I want you to, because I want 
to come again. So I’m going to tell you. 

“ I’m Irish all right. It doesn’t take my 
name to tell you that when you once see my 
face. But there’s nothing wrong with being 
Irish that I know of. We don’t have pigs in 
the kitchen or eat with our knives. I finished 
high school but the folks couldn’t make me go 
to college. They wanted to — they had the 
dough, — but I had to get out on the ocean. It 
about broke my mother’s heart.” 

He glanced down at his white sailor cap he 
was twirling in his big red hands. 

Mrs. Stafford had listened quietly to this 
outburst while Jeanne, interested but wonder- 
ing, sat wide-eyed. Suddenly the boy blushed 
into silence and Mrs. Stafford spoke swiftly. 

“ Thank you for telling me these things, Mr. 


320 "Jeanne 

Kelly. But it really wasn’t necessary. I ac- 
corded you a welcome at our home as soon as 
I saw you. It is more than gratitude for your 
tender care of Jeanne that makes me say so. 
We should be glad to count you as our friend.” 

“ We always have, Mother! ” Jeanne cried. 
“ Monsieur Kelly is my second friend. Doc- 
taire Zhack is my first.” 

‘‘ I’m jealous of Dr. Jack,” Tom said 
swiftly. 

The big sunburnt fellow was delightful. 
His admiration of dainty Jeanne was as honest 
as himself, and Mrs. Stafford couldn’t help lik- 
ing him. He spent the afternoon with them, 
roaming about the beautiful place with Jeanne, 
teasing and being teased, and at last accepting 
eagerly an invitation to stay to tea. 

“ Just to prove to you I know what to do 
with my knife,” he said to Jeanne. 

“ Monsieur Kelly! ” she flashed. “ You are 
foolish. I would not care if you put your knife 
behind your ears! You are my friend. That 
is all to it! Now cease such nonsense. How is 
the good captain? I have written to him and 
talked to him over the telephone but he cannot 
come to see me before I go.” 


Letters and Old Friends 321 

Oh, you axe going away? ” he asked in sur- 
prise. 

So J eanne told him of the delightful summer 
plan, dragging him into the house to show him 
the pictures of the lake, and reading to him the 
letters that had come that day. Tom was an 
appreciative audience listening eagerly and 
asking questions with interest, until the tinkle 
of the soft chimes interrupted them for 
supper. 

In the evening Tom and Jeanne strolled 
down to the place across the road where 
Jeanne’s hammock was swung between trees. 
Seated on the high bank overlooking the river 
and the dark Palisades on the other side they 
watched the blue pale and darken and the little 
stars came popping out all over the heavens; 
these in turn dimming as the lights of New 
York blazed in their full radiance all over the 
big city. 

Jeanne had talked herself out and she sat a 
little wearily, her head resting against a tree 
trunk, her hands clasped about her knees. 
Tom, his eyes on the boats plying up and down 
and across the river, turned to her at last after 
a long silence. 


322 Jeanne 

“Not this time, because there isn’t time. 
You are going away to-morrow and I go the 
next day, but next time I come back would you 
write me a steamer letter to read on the trip 
over? ” 

There was something so wistful and lonely 
in his voice that Jean impulsively put her hand 
on his sleeve. 

“ But surely. Why, I will this time, if you 
wish ! I could sit up a little while to-night and 
mail it in the morning.” 

He was abashed at her generosity, his cap 
fumbling between his big hands. 

“ Oh, don’t trouble. Next time — I just 
thought — it gets stupid, you know. Same old 
trip, same old place, all the time, and then 
you’d have all the cousins to tell me about next 
time.” 

But Jean had made up her mind and when 
she reached her little room that night she sat 
up fifteen minutes longer to write a letter of 
thanks to the “ Sea-boy ” — as she called him, 
who had been the one to bring her to America 
and her dear mother Stafford. 

“ I will give it to him as a surprise, when he 
meets us at the station,” she decided, and with 


Letters and Old Friends 323 

a smile of contentment she tumbled at last into 
her bed. 

****** 

The big trunk holding Jeanne’s and Mrs. 
Stafford’s clothes was locked and strapped and 
waiting for the expressman. Katy was 
bustling about in the kitchen washing the 
breakfast dishes, cleaning out the ice-box and 
leaving ever^’^thing spotless and clean. Mrs. 
Stafford was stripping beds and locking win- 
dows and Jeanne was following her about with 
a little dancing step. 

“ I can’t believe it’s true. Mother dear,” she 
said over and over. “ That I’m going on an- 
other journey with you, and a beautiful grand 
house-party at the end of it.” 

“ I’m sorry we can’t go in the car. It’s an- 
noying to have it out of order now,” Mrs. 
Stafford made reply as she began putting on 
her hat. “ You could see the country so much 
better.” 

“I’m not,” Jeanne said quickly. “For I 
like to ride in American trains. They are so 
tremendously full of business. And the car 
will follow us soon, will it not? ” 


324 yeanne 

‘‘ Yes, dear, in a day or two. Go get your 
hat on, sweet. It’s almost time to go.” 

“A letter for Miss Jeanne,” came Katy’s 
voice from below, “ and the expressman for the 
trunk.” 

Jeanne rushed to get the letter while Mrs. 
Stafford directed the taking of the trunk. 

From Bee! ” Jeanne cried. “ Oh, may I 
read it now? There is time? ” 

Mrs. Stafford nodded as Jeanne ripped 
open the letter, hopped up on the bare bed and 
began : 

“ Dear People: 

“ My first letter! My first invitation! 
My first trip on a train! My first house- 
party! My first — so many things! Isn’t it 
thrilling? I am too excited to eat or sleep. 
Mother tries on dresses and I don’t know 
whether they’re backward or forward. I’ll 
probably forget and arrive in bloomers any- 
how! 

“ Aunt Bee, you’re a wonder to think of such 
good things for so many people. And Jeanne, 
I love you already. Jack has told us so much 
about you I feel well acquainted. You’ll be 
glad to hear he’s well again and back in service. 
I’ll bring some pictures when I come. 


Letters and Old Friends 


325 


“ I’ll be seeing you next week. Heaps and 
barrels and a sky full of love from 

“ Bee.” 


^‘Doesn’t she sound jolly?” Jeanne sighed 
happily, then hastily tucked her letter back 
in its envelope and jumped up. 

“ I will now get my hat, cherie. I am all 
ready but for that. I hear Katy coming up, 
so she must be through.” 

In a few moments the last door was locked 
and Jeanne, Mrs. Stafford and Katy were in 
the limousine that was to drive them to the 
station. Jeanne wore a dark-blue linen dress 
and black sailor hat and Mrs. Stafford looked 
at her with approving eyes. For Jeanne’s thin 
figure had filled out and her cheeks were 
prettily pink and her wistful face was lit with 

joy- 

“ I wonder,” she said, turning to her mother, 
“ if Tom Kelly will be there, as he said? ” 

“ I rather think he will,” Mrs. Stafford re- 
plied, but Jeanne rushed on. 

“ Oh, Mother, isn’t it good to know that 
Dr. Jack is quite well again? ” She clasped 
her hands together. “ I am so happy! It al- 


326 yeanne 

most hurts. Everything is resolving itself just 
for my pleasure.” 

She stopped as they pulled up at the sta- 
tion, and peered through the window. 

“Yes! There is Tom! I see him in the 
door. Hello!” 

She waved a hand as she stepped out and 
Tom Kelly approached looming above them 
and smiling broadly as usual. In one hand 
was a box of candy, in the other a huge bunch 
of big red roses. 

“Oh! Monsieur Kelly! How lovely!” 
Jeanne cried, as she took the box, “ and how 
beautiful your flowers are. Mother cherie! 
When will you be done doing nice things for 
me? You are always at it.” 

“ I hope I may always be,” he boomed, and 
then he looked down in surprise at Jeanne’s 
outstretched hand. 

“ Nothing so nice as candy or flowers,” she 
smiled. “ Just the wee little steamer letter you 
asked for.” 

The color rushed up to meet his hair as he 
stammered his surprised thanks, and Jeanne 
was more glad than ever that she had done it. 
Such a little thing — and he had done so much 


Letters and Old Friends 327 

for her. Mrs. Stafford added to his confused 
pleasui’e by inviting him to run up to the lake 
for a few days of his leave the next time he 
came home, if he had time. 

They had only a few moments to chatter, 
then Tom, with their bags and suitcases in his 
hands, rushed them to their train and helped 
them aboard. 

“ Can I help you stowaway on the train? ” 
Jeanne asked laughing. 

“ I wish you could,” he replied earnestly, 
“ Some day if this war ever ends, maybe — 
well, good-bye, Mrs. Stafford; you’ve been 
very kind to me and I sure do appreciate it. 
Good-bye, Jeanne. I’ll answer this,” he 
tapped his coat pocket where the letter lay. 

“Good-bye and oh! do hurry! The train 
moves ! ” 

It was true. Just as the locomotive began 
to get headway Tom dropped off the steps and 
ran alongside the car for a last wave to the girl 
he had helped to happiness. In a moment or 
two his rosy, smiling face was out of sight and 
Jeanne settled back to happy day-dreams of 
her house-party in Vermont. 


■XJ 


•Yv; ^ 










.^>1 


Swi^ '?' ' ■ 

MQ^V », I ■■^■T*% . 

r /.' ‘U^ * v;'C’> 


N’r- 


r> 


e*;: 




/’ 


m 






iL..i.iL* b ».• ! . :^'! r' •: 




:i' 


= ». 


'tf. 




'Vf/ 


• I 


* .\»<V 


\ •* 


V 


l^ 


L'’Jf »■' 




iVw 




W 


V. \ 


v.v 








'•'ll 


• ' » 


't* 


•S. • 


4 f » , ^ 


* 'V 


I 

I 


' -^ 


•■,v 


{ft 


V'^ 








Vi/ 


> : ^ 


j ' ■ ’ >. i 

:’’r' a 


' I ' 


14* ’> 


». • 




a 


X 


’■i , 44. 


ml 




<; ' :< 


i t 


'"•iik 


■Lffi 


k^'- ; ?; 


V f'Xi 




' vl 


I ' ■' 


f I? 


w 


m 


.*> 


A « 


{' I /■ 


4 & V I 


•( « 






;is-. 


N< 


:ti 


w 


'V 




UWI 


V , ». 


* 




■4 ‘ \l » 




[ll-M 


t 




^v 


/i 


•I i' 


I ',-''ri 


O < 


.v;/. 






a!:*» 


:f' 


V » 




y/: . I • 


’>'■> 


A' 


<- V* V'- 

‘,' ' -U'/-. ,' 


t * 


Jii. 




V, 




fP X 






1/ 








* 1 . 




. I 


4 


wr 




Pir^ 


•lV 




« M 


■,i; A7 


«■ 


; BS.V.' 




». • 1 , 


'm 


X 


-s 


r ' 


2 


'r . I 


* rJ '‘ ♦ < 


if 'i^A 












V-fc! 




VVt.v.'-V 


*# /-• 


I / 


• ^ 


i 


if 


r' !• 


ftr 


yy 


■' ^ i'*' -t* ' , V < ' 



/if*\ ' j 'M 'i ' w ' * ! *• • L 

V. 




‘>s' 


» / .I 


Wi 


** l^i ‘ 

.. liri' 


m.. 


/l‘' y 


, ■/ 1 
»: ■ • 


I 1 ^ 


I ** •% » ’ » I 


»'• >■ 






*»*. 


t r 


4- /k* 

,W-r v'-/fv» 


f ♦ 


'. ../ 




.' 1 / 


< '« 


1/ O 


L'^j 


.^1 


\fun 


'■'t ’ 

:A' 


iT <) 4 ' 


:rj 


'■ 'if., 




I . 




*■ •• . •.. •..•s' « ■^' /I’-iv'L'V t 


••'4^ 


^.■ 


• . 'j 

•i . 1 I 




.Wr 


-■■w^..; \4: 


v.. 


.jf- 




./ti 






i 




























.0 ^ 

■^ ■" .\' '^' - K » -i 

0 N c ^ - 7 '^ ,o"^ X ^ ' ' * « ^ . c ° > 



V 5 ^.<. '.- s 


^ ^ : 

: A q, 

, 0 ^ ^6 % 

... 



ff I 'V 


^ * 0 



r‘ .V, 

.'CV 


cf' -\ 

S 



S ^ ts ^ 

A .' ' • . A ''”■ o~ c '^■' "' .'".s'’ A'^ 

0 ° ->^ A A 

^ a\ 4 - JSS\ \>V^ ✓ 


'‘"o 0 ^ 



■a 5 

* r^ y 'o - X ^ 

- A" r f? 51 ^ ' 

* A <v (A^^/V) '^v \\' 

" A /'^ ® ^V. v V 

v^ b « c<\\\foAv/ >7 , \f' .\' 





A 

X' ' 

/' 

® * . \ S ^ ^ / 




p. A' 


A V 





<A 0 , V 

K = 
: A o 



A , 0 N 


O ^ ^’X'-tA' * c^ ^ 1 , 

-% *•■'” Ao-'-.A 

by , y,j o j v ^ 'V^ A* 

'^■y Ax ^ ' V A ^ ^ 

xy< ^ c ■^> ^ 

^ .. 

\ ^ V 

^o <r 







\ i> ' '^ . 6 ^ 5 i A^ 


cT' A^ 

t/' «\' 



■I "t: 


<> <» 



y ^sh. 


r^_ y VN>o 

o 

N 0 ■ 

A 




V^ S 



0 0 . ''^/- A * *> '’ - ^ , \ 1 8 ^ 

- 0 '^o 0 ^ . 

* 1 

' y A. 




* Sy 

1 ^ ^ AV ^ 


,i --^A 



'”' V^’’" s.., %''=> ~«’ 

V> A > 

3 A 
: <b^ 





V tA 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



0Q□^^aS7SS^ 


